


Make it rain

by Havokftw



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Fisting, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Jihoon, Awkwardness, Body Worship, Bottom Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Butt Plugs, Coupzi, Double Penetration, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fisting, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by Twitter, Jicheol, Jihoon is the toppiest top who ever topped., Lingerie, Love Poems, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Seungcheol appreciation, Seungcheol is super subby, Sex Toys, Sexting, Shyness, Stockings, Strip Tease, Stripper AU, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Sub Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Top Jihoon, Vibrators, Who becomes a total boss in bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 85,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: Jihoon hadn’t been lying when he told Soonyoung and Wonwoo he had no plans for the Friday night after work, but this was the last place he expected to end up.If the logo of a silhouette arching against a poll was anything to go by, the place was a strip-club.Lee Jihoon is an extremely successful corporate lawyer who doesn't had time for distractions in his life. Choi Seungcheol is a gorgeous, doe eyed stripper who becomes the exception to every rule he's lived by.





	1. Dollar bills

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses.

“Well? What do you think?” Soonyoung smiles a little hesitantly, watching Jihoon’s face for a reaction.

“I disapprove.” Jihoon says decidedly, in a tone that he hopes conveys it will be his final word on the matter. He throws in a scowl for good measure.

Because, much as she loves Soonyoung like a brother, once Soonyoung convinces himself of something he can be exhausting. Exhausting and impossible to talk out of things, and the things Soonyoung wants to do when he's in one of those moods are dubious at best.

“Don’t be like that.” Soonyoung says despondently, doing the face thing, the one that means he thinks Jihoon isn't fun enough to be allowed a say in this. It’s his pitying face.

Jihoon makes a face too. “Don’t be like what? Have morals? Standards? Taste?” He says, sneering in distaste as he surveys the front of the club.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Soonyoung and Wonwoo he had no plans for the Friday night after work, but this was the last place he expected to end up.  If the logo of a silhouette arching against a poll was anything to go by, the place was a strip-club.

Soonyoung had dragged him to a fucking strip club, like it was a perfectly acceptable way to celebrate wrapping up a court case. Soonyoung’s a divorce attorney too; he knows better than most how getting caught in a place like this damages your image.

Just because Soonyoung is a pervert doesn’t mean Jihoon has to be one as well. He has a reputation to uphold, thank you.

Soonyoung’s eyes narrow in irritation at the comment, but he quickly speaks up, his tone placating. “This place is plenty tasteful. It’s completely legit. It had amazing reviews and I know somebody who had first-hand experience here and they highly recommended it!”

“Oh yeah? Who?” Jihoon asks, mildly curious.

“Wonwoo.” Soonyoung says, leaning forward with a conspiratorial wink. Which was utterly pointless because Wonwoo was standing right next to them.

“Wonwoo?” Jihoon scratches below his ear, trying to imagine Wonwoo ever coming to a strip club and enjoying it, finding the idea hard to believe.

“I only came here once.” Wonwoo nods, and it's his serious expression, his work face.  Which crumples as Jihoon narrows his eyes suspiciously at him. His arms fold in complicated ways until he has his hands balanced on his hips. “Okay—a few times. With friends. And by myself afterwards. And—for my birthday. _Don’t judge me_.” Immediately Wonwoo becomes tight-lipped, unwilling to give any more away.

Jihoon can't stop the snort that works its way free. “Too late.” He says, eyes going back to the front entrance.

“C’mon! Just—give it a try. You don’t have to ask for a personal lap dance or anything. Just sit and watch with us at the table. You said it yourself—you need to get out more and you have no plans.” Soonyoung reasons.

Jihoon finally lets out an exasperated laugh, mirthless and deep, his head hanging low. He knows he is likely being overdramatic and definitely being rude, “Fine. But you’re buying the drinks.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and huffs, clearly familiar with and exasperated by Jihoon’s method of party pooping. “I can live with that.”

Wonwoo leads the way inside, Jihoon trailing close behind.

The club is lavishly decorated, an old theatre barely renovated into anything more. There are over-stuffed armchairs and high stools arranged around individual platforms, a main stage that splits half the room with a runway. And on one side of the room, a large bar set up with small tables spilling into the parlour.

Soonyoung moves immediately to the bar, fishing his wallet out and ordering a round of drinks from the busy bartender. Jihoon sidles up next to him, eyes going wide when he takes in the thick stack of bills in Soonyoung’s wallet.

“What the fuck are they for?” Jihoon breathes out.

“Dollar bills.” Soonyoung shrugs nonchalantly. “To make it rain. Yanno—for the dancers.”

“That’s a thing? I thought they just did that in movies. Are you really gonna hook dollar bills in some guys G-string?” Jihoon sighs, privately rolling his eyes at his own sense of melodrama.

Soonyoung throws him one of those demented smiles that doesn't bode well for anyone “Yes. Look. I even took out some extra, for you.” He says, sounding weirdly hopeful.

Jihoon’s eyes widen, as if he's not quite sure whether to be terrified or insulted. “I’m not wearing a G-string—and I never plan on wearing one.”

Soonyoung sighs heavily. “Not _for_ you. For you to give to the _dancers._ Maybe you can get in the spirit of things, even pick a favourite.”

Jihoon snorts. “Keep it. I’m not interested.”

“You never know.” Soonyoung drawls, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket and offering a small half smile.

“Hurry up! We need to get good seats near the stage!” Wonwoo berates with a quiet sort of desperation. He’s looking far more eager than Jihoon has ever seen him.

Jihoon grabs his drink and follows him to the seating area, to a private table alongside the polished wooden stage.

He takes a seat, his back straight and his elbows on the arm rests as he watches Wonwoo sit down, sprawling comfortably into his. “You seem excited Wonu. _In fact_ , I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited for anything in your life before.”

Wonwoo shoots him a displeased look before draining almost half his drink. “Me. No. I’m chill.” He assures, lacking said chill entirely.

Jihoon sits back, holding his drink in both hands, almost cradling it. “You’re practically vibrating in your chair.” He laughs, ready to put the attention on Wonwoo for a bit.

Wonwoo grimaces, gingerly setting his glass down. “I’m just a little cold. The air conditioning must be set on high.”

“Wonwoo has a favourite.” Soonyoung pipes in, sitting with a groan on one of the plush chairs next to Jihoon’s.

“No—I don’t.” Wonwoo groans.

“Sure you do. You were telling me all about him the other day. _The Tall one.”_

“He has a name. It’s Mingyu.” Wonwoo says immediately, and pouts like a five years old.

Soonyoung snorts, his head lolling to the side. “See—he _does_ have a favourite. Wonwoo has like an open tab here or something. Why do you think he needs his suits dry cleaned?” Soonyoung jokes, waggling his eyebrows.

_“Wonwoo.”_ Jihoon intones, endlessly amused. “You sick, sick, sicko.” He adds with a laugh.

Wonwoo very obviously doesn't comment on that.

Instead he rolls his eyes as he takes another long drink. “Just shut up. It’s about to start.” He says, just as the speakers about the room emit music, serving to drown out the hum of other people’s conversations.

The lights dim and focus on the centre stage as a man in a white double-breasted suit comes on, clearing his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I’m Boo Seungkwan, your resident G-string conductor!” The man announces to the cheer of the crowd. Jihoon drowns out his introductory spiel of heavy breathing and inappropriate jokes as he begins to warm up the audience for the entertainment ahead.

“I want to thank everybody for coming out this Friday night here at Pledis! Up first, warming the stage for us, and hopefully your pants. I mean—your _hearts_ too. It’s Mingyuuuuu.” Seungkwan cheers, gesturing to the top the stage to heavy applause.

A cloud of mist descends as a tall man takes to the stage. “Oh—my god. Look at him. Look at him.” Wonwoo nudges Jihoon repeatedly in the side with extreme bruising force.

“Ow. _Ow!_ Yes, yes. Thank you. I have eyes, I can see.” Jihoon snaps curtly, eyeing Mingyu up and down more critically than his partner is. The very tall, shaved and tweezed man gyrating on stage isn’t really his type, but he is clearly Wonwoo’s. “He’s hard to miss, he’s a fucking giant Wonu.”

“Look at him. So graceful. Confident, captivating.” Wonwoo whispers, sitting back to watch Mingyu with lips pursed in pleased appreciation.

“Huge.” Jihoon offers.

Wonwoo makes an interested noise, like he hadn't thought of that. “Oh, I’ll bet he is.” He chuckles darkly, making an obscene gesture at his crotch. “You can tell he’s packin-“

“I meant his height!” Jihoon interjects quickly, forcing down the grimace he wishes to make in reply.

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo nods sheepishly, before continuing on with his poetic observations about Mingyu; oblivious or uncaring of his slip and Jihoon’s subsequent discomfort.

* * *

 

“That’s my kinda guy.” Soonyoung says, gesturing to the second dancer—DK—that has taken the stage shortly after Mingyu’s performance.

Jihoon merely nods half-heartedly in case Soonyoung suddenly takes interest in his opinion. But Soonyoung seems more than happy to keep ogling DK instead of elaborating.

“What’s doing it for you?” Wonwoo pipes up over his drink. “The cowboy hat? The cowboy boots? The horse on a stick?”

Soonyoung gives an approving hum, leaning against one armrest and tapping his mouth with a straw. “That smile.” He explains, watching DK as he converses with two patrons sat casually in stuffed armchairs before him. “He seems like a nice guy, lots of fun. Funny to be around, yanno.”

“And we’re not?” Jihoon says, with his accustomed dryness.

“I’m not going to answer that question.” Soonyoung retorts, drolly.

* * *

 

“We’re going to take a short intermission folks while we prepare the stage for our next act. That gives you enough time to head over to our bar or the atm, make our dancers feel special and you never know. They might give you a little something extra in return.” Seungkwan announces, stepping off the stage.

Jihoon has patiently sat through half an hour of performances, all meant to be the warm-up to whatever top attraction the club generally featured. So far there had been a fireman and a cowboy, and he was half concerned it was going to be the whole cast of the village people until a clown showed up on stage.

_A fucking clown stripper._ He’s not even making this shit up. Some people in the audience have balloon animals now for fucks sake. It’s fucking ridiculous.

Still though, he has the horrible feeling that it’s a theme night of sorts, and that's never a good day. Judging by the confused arrangement of outfits, the stylist is someone who is either very drunk or had only a rudimentary understanding of modern clothing. Or both.

Jihoon’s trying to look entertained, for Soonyoung’s sake. But he’s been caught more than once checking his phone, or his watch—finding it hard to take interest in the spectacle.

So really he's not enjoying this at all. And it makes him look like a dork. Which normally he wouldn't complain about, but the strobe lights, shitty music and clown strippers may have been fraying his temper. Also, no one listens to him and no one pays any attention to his facial expressions. Which is somewhere past disheartening and into downright annoying.

“Alright. You’ve had your fun. Let’s go.” Jihoon announces abruptly, moving to stand from his seat.

“Aw, dude. It’s only been an hour. The night is just getting started.” Wonwoo whines, tapping his wrist watch impatiently

Soonyoung is looking at him with an expression of forced placidity. Jihoon thinks he's getting really good at that considering how often Jihoon complains around him. “Sit down Jihoon, I haven’t made it rain yet.” He says.

“One.More.Dance.” Jihoon huffs, not sounding terribly optimistic.

“You’re no fun Jihoon. You need to lighten up.”

It’s a short intermission before the lights dim again and the music starts once more.

“Are you ready for our next act? I know you’ve been waiting for him.” Seungkwan calls out.

“Yeaaahhhh!” The crowd cheers.

“Hmm—I’m not sure. You don’t sound very convincing. I think I need to hear you louder!”

“YEAHHH!” The crowd erupts in a louder cheer. Jihoon joins in with a sarcastic and muted “Yay!”

“That’s more like it! Get those dollar bills ready because up next, we have the always sexy and always half-naked S.Coups!”

Jihoon glances up to the top of the stage, glass raised before his mouth when the lights flash and the dancer appears.

_Oh—my—_

Jihoon indulges for a moment, taking in the body standing before him. Because, holy shit.

S.Coups is a unique combination of beautiful and ruggedly handsome. With a black mop of slicked back hair and dark eyes. His body is sturdy, shoulders broad beneath the cut of his black leather jacket; dark denim jeans hugging a narrow waist and—fuck—the finest ass and thighs combo Jihoon’s retinas have ever seen.

When Jihoon glances up he notices the soft curve of the man’s mouth, and the hooded, dark eyes scanning the sea of hungry observers.

Jihoon chokes on a breath as S.Coups begins swaying his hips in a slow, teasing circle—back and forth. He pulls his leather jacket off, one clean economical motion, then drops to his knees to undulate his chest and lean back on his heels and stretch. Jihoon can only imagine the practice and strength it takes S.Coups to stay in position, holding himself up as the muscles across his stomach draw taut.

Then S.Coups’ up on his feet again, stepping to the front of the stage and slowly sliding his hands down the front of his crotch, hips bucking up towards his own touch. He unclasps his belt, beginning to rotate his hips with more purpose as he slides the belt out of the loops.

The muted thud of S.Coups’ belt hitting the stage snaps Jihoon back to the situation in front of him.

Jihoon coughs and swallows wrong, more beer than intended searing its way down his throat. He raises the back of his hand to cover his mouth, as Soonyoung glances at him with a quirked brow.

“Jihoon. Are you okay?”

Jihoon swallows hard, feeling his face heat with discomfort. He manages to find the breath to say, “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“What!” Soonyoung gapes in genuine concern.

“In my dick.” Jihoon rasps, his voice strangled as he coughs again.

“Really? He’s doing it for you?” Soonyoung says, eyes widening in comic surprise.

Jihoon nods, weathering his bottom lip as he eyes S.Coups unabashedly. By all rights, Jihoon shouldn't be reacting like this. It's not like he doesn't have regular access to men. He has sex. Okay, maybe they’re not all this glorious half naked, but Jihoon shouldn't be like these men around him who are growing wide-eyed, sweating discreetly into their three-piece suits.

Jihoon leans forward in his seat, hands coming to rest on the stage, drawn there. But his eyes are resolutely glued to where S.Coups is slowly unbuttoning his jeans. S.Coups’ hands are slow, fingers careful as he unzips the front of his pants, hips swaying as the slip down his thighs. Then with one brisk movement, he strips the jeans off in two, flinging them to land on a group of patrons who fight over it like its fucking money.

The shirt comes off next, ripped in half to display a nicely muscled torso. S.Coups arches back, showing off his neck and a lovely degree of flexibility as he jerks his hips teasingly. As he moves, Jihoon can see each of Seungcheol’s muscles working across his legs, back and arms and of course—that ass.  

S.Coups is very skilled at his craft. His movements are so fluid and sensual, matching the beat of the music. Just watching S.Coups strip from a distance, sparks warmth in Jihoon’s groin.

The guy has a thing for piercings obviously, what with the crucifix and bar in his ears and the nipple ring.  For some reason that hits Jihoon, a ridiculous pang of longing when he sees the glint of metal on S.Coups’ chest.

Nipple piercings for fucks sake. Jihoon is quite glad he never bothered to be worried about his sanity, because it's very clear he lost all of it somewhere along the line.

S.Coups continues to dance fluidly on stage, touching himself without even the faintest hint of self-consciousness.

The whole scene is captivating and Jihoon’s stomach is beginning to swim with nerves. “Give me your money. I’ll pay you back!” He commands, barely able to keep his composure.

Soonyoung blinks at him. “Are you serious?”

“Give me your money!” Jihoon grits out, without taking his eyes off S.coups on stage.

“Alright, alright.” Soonyoung placates, flipping his wallet open to withdraw several crisp bills with casual ease.

“I think I just got mugged by Jihoon.” He tells Wonwoo, brows rounded in a comical plea for pity.

Jihoon accepts the money with a triumphant smile, the trembling in his fingers barely noticeable.

“What do I do? Do I wave him over? Do I jump on stage? Do I take _my_ shirt off? How does this work!” Jihoon’s eyes flash to Soonyoung, who isn’t even bothering to hide his amusement at his fumblings. Asshole.

“Dude—calm down.” Soonyoung says, carefully moving the drinks away from Jihoon's agitated flailing. “Just stand up, he’ll come over to you.” He assures.

Jihoon stands up on shaky legs, which is clearly a signal that he’s willing to part with his cash, because the MC gives S.Coups a small wave, indicating for him to get down from the stage.

Jihoon feels like a complete idiot for letting his nerves get the better of him. After all, if he could handle representing bloodthirsty, violent criminals, he should be able to handle anything. No worse than seeing a guy in a pair of speedos, right? Now if he could just calm the fuck down, that would be fantastic.

He tries for an earnest expression without the slightest hint of sexual intent behind it. Hopefully it will work and S.Coups won’t look below the waistline to where he’s clearly half hard in his pants.

By the time S.Coups comes back to their side of the stage, he's down to his jockstrap and a sliver of shirt still hanging half-off his shoulders. S.Coups steps up close, his light cologne in good taste, a pleasant surprise. He crouches down, resting a knee on the stage just beside Jihoon’s hip, his hips angled towards him, thighs spread.

“You guys having fun tonight?” he says and his voice catches Jihoon off guard; the words silky and decadent as he surveys Jihoon’s face.

Jihoon is very nearly too busy trying not to choke to think. He tries to speak, but his mouth opens and shuts wordlessly for a minute, so completely entranced.

S.Coups, thankfully, doesn't even look inconvenienced, seems perfectly content to kneel where he is and let Jihoon admire him.

“Yes, Sir.” Jihoon croaks finally. Jesus, he can’t believe those words have left his mouth, and he’s almost crippled with embarrassment.

“Sir?” S.Coups’ jaw cocks to the side, a delighted noise spilling from his thick lips. “ That’s uhmm--You’re Polite. I like it.” S.Coups says, a wry smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

Jihoon gestures awkwardly in the general direction of S.Coups’ crotch, not entirely sure how to act. He wants to give Seungcheol money, but he isn't sure quite how close to get to the man, he may have magnetic properties.

“Where do I?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck, wishing to god he didn’t flush so damn easily.

His eyes dart up to see S.Coups, visibly amused, smiling at him.

“Anywhere you like.” S.Coups says and Jihoon does his best not to shiver at the rich purr of the man’s voice, the warmth of his body pressing close. S.Coups’ hands drop to the waistband of his jockstrap, finger brushing along the rim as he bites his lip, keeping his eyes on Jihoon this time as he speaks. “But right here is most comfortable.”

Jihoon leans forward. His whole body turns rigid, jaw clenched tight as he nods and finds the hem of the jockstrap with mostly steady fingers. He tucks in a massive wad of cash under the strap, feeling the rush of heat and S.Coups’ pulse beneath the thin fabric.

He tries his best to seem relaxed, cataloguing everything as best he can. But he’s so aware of his hand just brushing against S.Coups’ bare thigh, that he retracts it before his arms can tremble too noticeably.

“Thank you handsome. I hope you enjoy your night.” S.Coups says with a wink.

“You too.” Jihoon stutters, flashing a flustered smile.

_Oh god. I’m so lame._ Jihoon groans internally.

And it’s really fucking awkward, like when the waiter at a restaurant tells you to enjoy your meal and you reply with: _you too._

S.Coups laughs, too white teeth baring a wolfish grin as he looks Jihoon over again.

Jihoon’s ears burn and he is sure his face is in a similar state. S.Coups smiles at him, his thumb rubbing over the front of Jihoon’s shoulder before he finally steps back.

Jihoon slumps down into his seat, boneless and stares at nothing for a long while. Wonwoo waves a hand in front of his face, in the hope that random moving objects will be enough to drag him back to the real world.

Soonyoung doesn't say a word, he just looks at him over the top of his drink, squinting at him and looking for all the world like Jihoon’s done something awkward. Like he is something awkward.

Jihoon's not going to encourage him.

Even when it's true.

He’s so wrapped up in the moment, he doesn’t even notice the announcer coming back to the stage to cheer S.Coups off. He doubts anybody did, really.

“Once again ladies and gentleman, S.Coups!”

He sits there, torn between guilt and pride, but opts to express the former. “He called me handsome.” He sighs to the two men in earshot.

Wonwoo barks out a laugh and Soonyoung titters. “Yeah, and you called him sir. You loser.” he says, but there's a fondness to his amusement.

Jihoon laughs lightly, his mouth crowned with dimples. “I’m going to get another fucking drink. This round is on me guys.”


	2. Money, money, money, money--money!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon has a problem.

“Fuck off, I’m busy.” Jihoon snaps.

“You’re not busy, you’re having lunch.” Soonyoung says pointedly, leaning against the doorway.

 _Some lunch_ , Jihoon thinks

He’s trying to work his way through the most unappealing lunchbox of all time.

It’s his own fault for picking a salad, but he was under the impression that a salad could be rich in flavour, texture and colour. This salad was sadly lacking in all three seeing as it was entirely green, tasteless and took almost an entire five minutes to chew a single mouthful. It’s not one of those awesome _imposter_ salads that have pasta, or chicken or even potato. It’s a genuine fucking salad with spinach and avocado and edamame and cucumber and _broccoli!_

Since when did raw broccoli even become a salad ingredient? Who’s bright idea was that!

He looks up and catches Soonyoung watching him with an eyebrow raised.

"What?" he demands.

Soonyoung doesn't react to the sharp tone. He just sits on the edge of Jihoon’s desk, in that strange way, like he's waiting for Jihoon to drop everything and pay attention. “So, how have you been?”

“Fine. Never better.” Jihoon rushes, then a little slower. “How have _you_ been?”

“Don’t deflect!” Soonyoung says bluntly.

Jihoon makes a face. “How is that a deflection? This is normal conversation. Usually when people ask how you are, you reply—and the polite thing to do is to ask how they are in return!”

Soonyoung sighs and rolls his eyes. “Okay. Fine. I noticed you’ve been hitting the gym a lot this week. Every day in fact.”

“So? Exercise is important.” Jihoon says, pausing to inspect a piece of broccoli on the edge of his fork, before giving up on it entirely. He stabs at a piece of kale instead, but the kale is proving to be very uncooperative. It refuses to be stabbed. “Exercise is especially important with a stressful job such as mine. The release of endorphins helps relieve stress and reduces the incidence of hypertension. You should consider it sometime.” He tells Soonyoung, trying to edge a piece of kale on his fork through sheer force of will.

“Hmm. And I couldn’t help but notice you’re eating a—what appears to be a _kale salad_. That’s not like you at all. What’s up with that?” Soonyoung says slowly. In the sort of tone one might start an interrogation in.

Jihoon interrupts anything else the man has to say with crunching; then retrieves another forkful of unchewable vegetation and stabs it in Soonyoung's direction. “What’s your point?”

“This isn’t you. You hate salads, you despise Kale!”

Jihoon nods his head slowly as he speaks. “True, in the past me and kale didn’t quite see eye to eye-“

“You said it was your sworn enemy.” Soonyoung interjects knowingly.

“— ** _but now,”_** Jihoon continues over him loudly. “I realise and appreciate kale as a nutritious and delicious, source of— _I wanna say photosynthesis?”_

“Nice try.”

Jihoon throws his arms up in the air in defeat. “EUGH. Fine! I still hate Kale....what’s your point. I’m trying to be more healthy, is there any harm in that?”

“No. But—maybe the reason behind this sudden health drive is concerning me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jihoon grumbles, crunching miserably through a persistent kale stalk.

“I’m talking about the stripper, on Friday night.” Soonyoung says, leaning in closer.

Jihoon crunches to cover the expression that thought makes his face slip into. “Which one? There were several strippers—“

“Now you’re deflecting.” He says, grinning victoriously.

Jihoon narrows his eyes and thinks up several inventive ways to have him struck off from the bar. “Okay. So I embarrassed myself and—I’m moving on.”

“Are you going to go back there?” Soonyoung says seriously.

Jihoon hopes he is wearing a good incredulous expression. “What? No! _No._ **N—O**. _Nooo._ Nu-uh. Nope. No-hoho. _Noooooooo_ …” Jihoon continues to use several other varieties of the word 'no' in various emphatic tones of voice, until Soonyoung slams the desk to silence him.

“If you have no plans on going back why the sudden drive to be healthy and tone up.” Soonyoung argues.

“I go to the gym every week. I may have increased the number of times I go, but that has nothing to do with him.” Jihoon argues back.

Soonyoung simply shakes his head and laughs. “You’re so full of shit.”

Jihoon scowls at him and tries to think of a response to that. But before he manages to come up with something appropriately scathing and witty, Soonyoung sighs and stands up, coming around the table and placing a comforting hand on Jihoon’s shoulder.  “It’s okay Jihoon. He was hot.”

Jihoon slumps in his chair. He shakes his head, more despair than protest. “He was, wasn’t he. I’ve thought about him all week.”

Soonyoung hums in understanding. “I know. You have very fitted suits.” He tells Jihoon, with the sort of half abusive and half mocking honesty you can only get from a really good friend.

“It’s awful. I even wrote a poem about him during a meeting with a client yesterday. Talk about unprofessional.” Jihoon sulks.

“Oh?” Soonyoung asks, quirking a brow.

Jihoon sighs and pushes over the notepad on his desk. He watches Soonyoung pick it up with what is a totally unnecessary amount of caution, like perhaps Jihoon has drawn pornographic sketches on it or something. He should know by now Jihoon only doodles pornographic sketches in the safety of his home.

Soonyoung reads the poem with eyebrows climbing high up his forehead.

_S.Coups._

_Doe eyes_

_Your ass is amazing_

_I want to fuck you raw_

_Or you could sit on my face_

_I don’t mind which._

_Please bend over_

_Nice._

 

.......it's a work in progress.

“That’s _poetic_. A little NSFW.” Soonyoung’s facial expression effortlessly suggests that 'NSFW Poetry' was perhaps a step _too far._ Little does he know that, that was the safe for work version!

“I should never have gone to that club.” Jihoon whines, mostly to the salad. He shakes his head and then points a finger at Soonyoung. “This is all your fault by the way!” he tells him. Which at least gets him an affronted look.

“My fault? Well excuse me for wanting you to loosen up and have fun once in a while.” Soonyoung scoffs.

Jihoon grunts to show that he's spectacularly ungrateful.  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, I’m not going to see him again, because I’m not going back. _Ever_.”

“Going back where?” Wonwoo says suddenly, appearing behind Soonyoung with his briefcase and a coffee.

“To the strip club where he creamed his pants.” Soonyoung tells him with far too much relish.

Wonwoo’s eyes almost immediately light up with interest. “You wanna go? I’m going tomorrow, you wanna come with?”

“Didn’t you just go just the other day?” Soonyoung questions.

Wonwoo shrugs affably. “Yeah, but Mingyu wasn’t working—so it doesn’t count.”

“Did you stay for the show?” Soonyoung asks dubiously.

Wonwoo’s eye twitches “It—doesn’t—count—If—he—wasn’t—there.” He says, in the kind of voice that suggests he thinks he’s a Public Service Announcement.

Jihoon gives up on his sad excuse for a salad and dumps it in the trash, before pointing a finger at Wonwoo. “Wonu pal. You’re in denial. _We both are_. We need to work together to overcome this addiction.”

Wonwoo glares, then frowns, then settles on looking annoyed. “It’s not an addiction. And why is this even a big deal for you? You’ve only been there once.”

“Yeah, and look what it’s done to me. I’m eating fucking kale!” Jihoon offers.

Wonwoo purses his lips thoughtfully. “You know, they say the best way to overcome your addiction—is to face it straight on.”

Soonyoung barks out a laugh. “That’s in reference to fear. _Face your fears_. Not face your addictions. I’m pretty sure no sensible addiction counsellor would suggest you bombard yourself with your addictions to overcome them.” He argues.

It’s a valid argument. One Jihoon chooses to completely ignore.

“I think you’re right Wonu. We need to go to that club and sit through those dances.” He suggests.

“Enabler!” Soonyoung offers in one long drawl. Then gives Jihoon side-eye for the said enabling.

“Shut your face! This is therapy for us.” Jihoon snaps.

Wonwoo’s head tips to the side, just a little. Jihoon interprets that as 'your methods of persuasion are crude, and obvious,' but possibly with a side order of 'but acceptable, I will use this as an excuse.'

“We can do this Wonu. We’re going to march into that club, go straight up to that stage—take a seat—watch the show and then leave with our dignity in tact.

“Exactly. And the urge will disappear.” Wonwoo affirms. Though there's an air of uncertainty about the statement.

“That sounds like a sensible idea.” Jihoon says, even though it really isn’t.

“You guys are deluded.” Soonyoung pipes in with his professional opinion, which Jihoon has already proven he’s good at ignoring.

* * *

 

Jihoon is implementing a new rule.

The new rule will be 'no pining over ridiculously sexy, beautiful, doe eyed strippers.'

He's going to put that into effect just as soon as he sees S.Coups dance one more time..

No, really he is!

When he eventually makes it to the club the next day, its after several conversations with himself and practicing different scenarios in the mirror. Even though he’s practicing on himself—he disappointingly plays out the most embarrassing scenario each time. So by the time he meets up with Wonwoo, he’s cold, sweaty, and with enough fear-adrenaline in his system to fuel a jet plane.

Wonwoo’s waiting impatiently by the entrance as Jihoon jogs up. “Dude, why are you so late? The show’s about to start!”

“I stopped at the bank to get some money out.” Jihoon says. His wallet is so overloaded with dollar bills it simply refuses to fit in his jacket pocket.

“Holy shit, how much did you take out?” Wonwoo gasps.

Jihoon tries once more to fold his wallet in half; he’s very unsuccessful. “Just 300 dollars.”

“Seriously? You blew like 100 dollars on just one dancer last week. How much are you planning to spend to get this guys attention?”

Jihoon sighs and very carefully doesn't comment on that.

Wonwoo titters and shakes his head. “Are you looking for a private dance session or something?” He says and all the air leaves Jihoon's lungs in a pathetic wheezing noise because…

“They do private dance sessions?” He croaks.

Wonwoo waves him off. “No, no Jihoon, you don’t want to go down that path. That’s a slippery slope.” He warns. “Literally too, because you’ll be jizzing-“

“Okay! I’ll just sit for the main show.” Jihoon interrupts quickly.

Unless of course, S.Coups asks for a private dance.

It would be rude to refuse. _Right?_

So, yeah.  New rule—first thing tomorrow.

* * *

 

“Do you see S.Coups anywhere?” Jihoon asks again. Which makes it about the fourth or maybe the fifth time.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “No. I haven’t. Control yourself Jihoon. Honestly, it’s sad how obsessed you have become. Don’t let this man control your life.” He chides, doing a very credible impersonation of an addiction counsellor right up until he starts flailing like a maniac.

“Oh my god. Mingyu’s coming this way.” He panics.

Jihoon turns to find the tall man is indeed heading this way. He’s been drawn towards them, though Jihoon can't honestly say whether it was the smell of crisp dollars in his overflowing wallet, the sight of their furious rubber necking or for the purposes of administering first aid to a hyperventilating Wonwoo.

“Oh shit, look busy. Talk to me.” Wonwoo makes frantic hand gestures that seem to be attempting to convey some sort of conversation should be flowing between them. “Pretend to be my friend!”

“I _am_ your friend.” Jihoon spits, turning around and draping himself in the armchair.

“Just talk about something, _anything_.” Wonwoo hisses, and the look he throws Jihoon is pure mistrust, almost as if he expects Jihoon to run off and fend possibly sexual advances from Mingyu all by himself.

Jihoon tries for the first random conversation that pops into his head. “So, Bananas huh? Do you eat the brown bits or do you throw them away?”

Wonwoo squints at him, like he can’t believe Jihoon opened with that, or maybe he likes the gross sludgy parts of the banana. “Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Hey, Wonu—welcome back.” Mingyu says, giving them a flashy smile.

“Oh. Mingyu is it?” Wonwoo says with an unbelievably rude level of disinterest. “Hello.” He adds absently.

Mingyu’s eyebrows draw in, the tiniest expression, that's somewhere between conflicted and disappointed. “I hear you were asking for me by name?”

Wonwoo scoffs. “Hmm—I don’t recall that. Perhaps it was another regular. Why would _I_ ask for you?” He says in a deceptively bland voice, though he doesn't even pretend he isn’t staring Mingyu up and down as he says it.

“Oh. Okay. Uhmm—my mistake. Enjoy your night.” Mingyu says dejectedly, nodding a little before walking away.

Wonwoo's face is trying its damnedest to remain serenely unconcerned. If Jihoon wasn't watching he would have completely missed the way Wonwoo’s eyes just sort of helplessly slide all the way down Mingyu's body, before cutting away.

Jihoon's going to call bullshit on that.

“Dude. You salivate over that guy constantly and he comes up to talk to you and you’re cold as ice with him?”

Wonwoo sighs, like Jihoon has made him sound rude and immature. Which, frankly, he had been. “What’s the alternative? Show that I’m interested and watch him fleece me for every penny I have?”

Jihoon blinks at him. “Then what’s your long-term plan? Be cold forever? How is that working for you?”

“No, I’m just playing hard to get.” Wonwoo decides, possibly on the spur of the moment. Jihoon can't really imagine that the thought had ever occurred to him.

Jihoon clucks his tongue reproachfully. “He’s a stripper Wonu. He has like 46355 other people lining up to pay attention to him, you brush him off he will just leave.”

Wonwoo’s huff isn't convinced. “Oh, so you’ve got the best game plan? Hurl 300 dollars at a guy for 10 seconds of attention.”

Jihoon wisely doesn't comment.

* * *

 

Jihoon sits anxiously through two routines. The club is not as crowded as it was on Friday so each dancer to take the stage has more time to focus on the patrons seated around the periphery. Which is great if you want the attention—not if you’re Jihoon and only have eyes for one dancer in particular.

He doesn’t think it’s appropriate for him to ignore the other dancers either.

That might look a bit odd, sitting in a strip club and staring at the _ceiling_. Though the dancer in a stars and stripes jockstrap, currently waving his butt in their faces is perhaps a bit too young, or perhaps Jihoon is getting too old, because he mostly wants to offer the guy his jacket and give him cab fare home.

Wonwoo seems to think throwing money at the man is an appropriate solution to get him to go away.

Jihoon is sceptical but concedes; Wonwoo has more experience in this sort of thing after all.

So he parts with some of his cash and throws it at the man. Stupidly, he’d forgotten to remove the paperclip the bank teller had clipped around the bills—so essentially, he’s just thrown a paperclip at a stranger.

The lawyer in him _immediately_ translates this into a lawsuit waiting to happen. So he throws another wad of bills at the dancer in some weird gesture of compensation.

It too has a paperclip.

He’s certain security is going to kick him out any minute now for attacking people with paperclips.

The dancer looks bemused, because instead of making it rain with dollar bills, Jihoon has just thrown a wad of neatly pressed bills at him. Nevertheless he seems pleased with his tip, and probably more pleased that he doesn’t have to scrabble around to pick up, seeing as Jihoon has kindly arranged the money in a nice little stack.

At least he’s not the only one struggling with the strip club etiquette. Wonwoo’s hardly any better. Since his icy behaviour towards Mingyu earlier, the scowl has never left his face. He scowls at each dancer that parades in front of him as though each of them has insulted his mother in a new and creative way.

They’re just two guys, at a strip club, shooting the breeze and scowling at people.

Awesome.

* * *

 

After that, Jihoon finds himself idling by the bar. He orders a scotch and sits at one of the stools there, his back to the stage. For another ten minutes he sits alone, watching a dancer on the podium out of the corner of his eye and doing his best to avoid actively searching for S.Coups. However, he can’t explain away how quickly his eyes lock on S.Coups when the dancer appears.

He knows he’s staring. How can he not.

S.Coups is fucking gorgeous: well-built, with a sinfully-tailored black suit. He looks like every man Jihoon has ever wanted to fuck, rolled into one.

He watches S.Coups work the room, nodding to a few of the other dancers he knows and speaking with a few clients, making small talk.

Eventually S.Coups’ eyes meet Jihoon’s, sending a thrill down his spine. Jihoon lifts his drink to his lips and tries to school his expression to something less transparently stalkerish, but S.Coups is already moving towards him.

Jihoon swallows and prepares himself for the worst kind of embarrassment.

“Well—if it isn’t Mr polite.” S.Coups says, giving Jihoon a careful once-over

_Oh god. He remembers me. Oh shit, so shit._

“Yes, that’s me alright.” Jihoon says in what he hopes is an appropriately casual tone of voice.

S.Coups smiles a little, a dimple showing up on the side of his cheek as brings his hand up to the back of his neck, tilting his head as he says, “Are you going to tell me your name, or would you prefer I keep calling you Mr Polite?”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, my name is Lee Jihoon.” Jihoon says, sticking out a hand, then he realises that is almost certainly wrong. This is a strip club, not the United fucking Nations. He tries to turn the movement into some sort of wave. But he suspects he's just given the impression he thinks he has an invisible cat.

S.Coups is paying far too much attention to him now, though Jihoon thinks that's kind of the point. But at least he’s smiling and not calling security. And it's not just any smile. It’s a beautiful smile that brings out his cheekbones. S.Coups is beautiful.

His hair isn’t slicked back today, it’s tumbling forward over his brow which only serves to make him more gorgeous and untouchable. Every time he slides a hand through it, it’s messier than before, lending him a wild, bedroomy, look that Jihoon has no defence against.

“So, Jihoon. Back again so soon?” S.Coups says smoothly, though he sounds far too amused.

_It is soon, isn’t it. Wow, this is humiliating._

Jihoon frowns and shakes his head, pretending his pulse isn't galloping in his throat, and takes a step back. “I didn’t realise there was a respectable timeframe for how soon I could return.”

Was there another puzzle piece to the strip club etiquette? Does such a thing even exist? Wonwoo’s here all the fucking time evidently and he hasn’t been told off. Then again, Wonwoo doesn’t go around calling people Sir and throwing paperclips at people.

S.Coups waves him off quickly. “What? No. We love regulars. It tells us you enjoyed the show. It’s flattering.”

Jihoon is distracted by S.Coups, who's much closer and more intent than he was a moment ago. So he doesn’t manage to censor himself before he blurts out-- “I don’t really enjoy the show—I just like watching you dance.”

Then immediately realises that this is the WRONG THING to say!

S.Coups smiles, bites his bottom lip but holds Jihoon’s gaze. He’s watching him, half fascinated and half something else, something too faint to catch. “Really? That’s quite a compliment.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” Jihoon says quickly. Why does his verbal filter fail around this man!

S.Coups laughs with his head tipped back. A throaty wet noise that's all sex. “Too late for that.” He tells him, in a way that's obviously enjoying this a little too much.

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose, this is a lot worse than all those awful scenarios he was practicing in the mirror. Nothing could have prepared him for this. “When will you be—uhm.” _TAKING OFF YOUR CLOTHES?_

Jihoon gestures in a vague sort of way, perfectly aware that what he's about to say is going to come out wrong no matter how hard he tries. 

S.Coups seems to guess his unasked question. “Unfortunately, I’m not performing tonight. We have a rotation. I can’t be on stage all the time, cause I gotta let the others get some tips too.”

“Oh.” Jihoon says, trying to remove all traces of disappointment from his face. He’s failing at that too.

S.Coups’ eyebrows furrow as he studies Jihoon. “Don’t look so sad Cherry Tomato. I’m still working the room, mingling yanno.”

As far as nicknames go, Jihoon’s had worse, but he’s missing the relevance to this one. “Cherry tomato?” he asks.

“Yeah, that’s my nickname for you now.” S.Coups says simply. Jihoon thinks he's going to leave it there, but apparently Jihoon's frown requires more words. “Because your cheeks are all red. And you’re small.” S.Coups says in that teasing, liquid voice he has, and Jihoon is even more horribly self-conscious.

“Hmm—Can’t argue with that.” His voice comes out slow and quiet and strangely lacking in any sort of irritation at all. He turns and makes a move to step away from the bar.

“You’re not leaving are you?” S.Coups says, touching his arm, a slide of hand over the cotton of his sleeve, warmth instantly seeping all the way through.

He leaves his fingers there...which is a terrifying development.

S.Coups is touching him.

Should S.Coups be touching him?

Is there even touching allowed at the strip club?

More importantly is it socially acceptable to run away?

S.Coups eyebrows rise in expectation. “You might not enjoy the show without me onstage—doesn’t mean I can’t fit you in for a private session.”

Jihoon’s brain, which has been doing an admirable job of managing to function, skids off somewhere confusing. He makes some sort of whimpery gargling noise in his throat. “Oh my god,”

S.Coups’ face twists into something worried. Mouth a line of fierce tension. “Unless—you don’t want to. It’s cool. You don’t have to. I just thought you might like to watch me privately.”

“No—no, that’s great. I want a private session!” Jihoon insists desperately, and his voice is dry and cracked and pathetic.

There's a very long pause, and S.Coups looks away, then very slowly, but pointedly, meets his eyes again. “Awesome. Then, I’ll catch you later yeah?” He says quietly, and his eyes are more than a shade darker than before, even if his smile is still loose and relaxed.

"Yeah," Jihoon says throatily.

* * *

 

“So. I see you caught up with that dancer.” Wonwoo says as Jihoon slumps back into his chair by the main stage. “Did you share your poem with him?” Wonwoo snorts.

“He’s going to give me a private session.” Jihoon says feebly, because really it hadn't actually sunk in properly until that exact moment.

The look Wonwoo gives Jihoon is a mix of incredulity and a small measure of something like pride. “Oh Jihoon. I hope you brought a change of underwear.” he singsongs at Jihoon, earning him a borderline-scandalized expression.

“Oh fuck. You’re right, this is stupid. I should leave before he gets back!” Jihoon says, bolting from his chair. He’s halfway across the room when he nearly collides with a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. He moves to side step him when somebody pokes him in the shoulder.

Jihoon spins around immediately to find S.Coups standing behind him, watching him, eyes a little sad.

“Why are you leaving so soon Cherry Tomato?”

“I wasn’t.” Jihoon lies, like it wasn’t fucking obvious that he was turning tail.

It’s not his fault. He wasn’t prepared for this. He was planning on just ogling S.Coups from a dark corner somewhere. Really none of this private session stuff had been part of his recovery plan. He was pretty much winging it from here.

Winging it currently involved choking. Which he has some experience with. His body seems to be disturbingly fond of choking around S.Coups.

S.Coups cants his head slightly, his expression slightly wounded. “What about my private session? I just got the room prepped and all.”

Jihoon makes a wild gesture that manages beautifully to convey _none_ of what he wants it to. “I was just—I was—I.”

S.Coups folds his arms across his chest and pouts. “Just about to leave without saying goodbye?” he finishes for him. His voice sounds so much like someone just kicked his puppy that all of Jihoon’s disbelief and shock disappears in a rush. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, expression slightly ashamed.

“No. I was just gonna get more money from the ATM, cause I--” Jihoon trails off, turning to look S.Coups in the eye. Whatever else he was going to say just doesn't matter anymore because S.coups drops the pout and grins at him.

The devilish look in his eyes actually shoots a tremor of lust through Jihoon “You’re such a bad liar.” he purrs in reverence, full lips pursing.

 _I’m a great liar actually. I’m a fucking lawyer_. Jihoon doesn’t say.

Jihoon makes a few probably unattractive attempts at speech before giving up entirely when S.Coups takes a hold of his hand.

Jihoon stares down at their joined limbs.

He blinks.

He blinks again.

S.Coups just grins and starts tugging him along to the VIP section at the back of the club. Jihoon realises he’s very much in danger of caving, what with his letting himself be dragged along. He hadn't thought of himself as a 'letting himself be dragged' person before.

“Right this way, Cherry Tomato.” S.Coups purrs. The endearment warms Jihoon, and he finds it hard not to steal little glances at S.Coups as he leads him towards the stairs. Jihoon definitely appreciates the view on the way up; all those muscles finally worth it when he sees S.Coup’s ass in action beneath his trousers as he struts up the staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) You should check out this photo of Seungcheol to understand what I imagine him wearing.  
> [Seungcheol in suit I imagine for this chapter](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/866450053291966464?s=09)  
> 2) Hope you enjoy. Feedback appreciated.


	3. Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the fun starts, there are rules.

A slim man with long blonde hair stops them when they reach the top of the staircase.

“One guest for the Prosecco room please Hannie.” S.Coups says, gesturing to Jihoon.

“Certainly.” Jeonghan says, reaching for a clipboard hanging on the wall. He looks past S.Coups, to Jihoon but doesn't make any great effort to smile, possibly it's beneath him?

“Welcome to the Prosecco room. It’s $50 per song or $200 for three songs, or 30 minutes for $250.” He explains.

Jihoon tips his head sideways, because that’s really bad maths. “Why would anyone pay $200 for three songs, when they can pay for four songs individually for the same price?”

Jeonghan squints at his clipboard for a second, then tips his head back up and glares at him. He ignores the question entirely. “What are you, a maths teacher?”

“No.” Jihoon says with a sigh. Maybe the patrons are a lot drunker when they ask for a private session and never question their options. “I’ll take the half hour for $250.”

“Good choice.” Jeonghan intones with a brief narrowing of his eyes.

With that, Jihoon reaches into his pocket to withdraw his wallet, handing the money to Jeonghan. “I’m sure you’re familiar with our rules.” Jeonghan adds, drawing back the heavy red curtain.

S.Coups waves him off quickly. “Yeah, he is. He’s a regular.”

“Uhh—actually no, I’m not.” Jihoon points out.

“It’s cool, I’ll brief him inside!” S.Coups dismisses, but Jeonghan stops him with a raised finger when he tries to pass.

He shakes his head, quick and unhappy. “You know our policy Seungcheol. Guests new to the Prosecco room need a full briefing before you— _debrief_.”

The knuckles of S.Coups’ free hand whiten as he clenches his fist and Jihoon has a fleeting moment of regret for getting him in trouble, before he realises the irritation isn’t directed at him. “What did I tell you about using my name in here?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Jeonghan flusters at the slip of tongue.

_Seungcheol._

_That must be his real name_ —Jihoon thinks. He longs to test out the name on his tongue, although it’s clearly only for private use with friends or family and Jihoon, sadly, is neither.

“Can we just hurry this up please.” Seungcheol says under his breath. And Jihoon rolls his eyes and prepares himself to become embroiled in the bureaucracy of it all.

“First rule of the Prosecco room,” Jeonghan begins calmly, “There _are_ no rules!” He finishes with aplomb.

“Oh.”

_Well, that was simple enough._

Jihoon considers that for a second before Jeonghan opens his mouth again. “Second rule of the Prosecco room,“

“You just said there were no rules.” Jihoon interrupts with a frown. Jeonghan’s face scrunches, like he disapproves of the interruption. “Sorry, sorry. Please continue.”

Seungcheol shifts beside him, silent save for the occasional exhale of frustration.

“Second rule,” Jeonghan repeats, managing to be polite and angry at the same time. **“** Do not touch the dancers under any circumstances.”

“Got it.” Jihoon nods.

That’s probably for the best anyway, although the experience might help widen the vocabulary for his poem?

Jeonghan continues. “Third rule: When you’re touching the dancer, keep your hands above the belt line.”

“Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t touch him under any circumstances?” Jihoon asks, because really it's good to be clear on these things.

“What’s with all the questions? What are you, some kinda cop?” Jeonghan asks, an air of accusation and bitterness is his tone.

“ _No._ It’s just these rules are very contradictory.” Jihoon defends.

Jihoon knows his life would be a lot easier if he learned to pick his battles, but he can’t. He's stubborn, incapable of letting things go and astonishingly good at needling people in a way that is more aggressive than sly. It’s what makes him a successful lawyer.

Busting chops is Jihoon's thing, it's _always_ been his thing, so much so that it's probably written down somewhere in a file next to his name. 'Jihoon: he will bust your chops.'

Jeonghan huffs, resting a hand on his hip. “Listen. You can’t touch the dancer unless he gives you explicit permission to, understood? And if he does—then it has to be above the beltline.”

“Understood.” Jihoon replies flatly.

“Fifth rule: always tip the dancer after.”

“That’s fair. But what about rule number four? Did you forget than number exists or is it a mystery rule that I uncover after I rescue the princess from the castle?” Jihoon declares with a sarcastic level of enthusiasm.

He feels like he should shut up now and stop irritating the man, but the amused, expectant look Seungcheol throws him is almost encouragement.

Jeonghan very obviously doesn't comment on that. Instead he increases the volume of his rant. “RULE NUMBER 6! I am the boss, I’m in charge.”

And god help Jihoon, he just can't stop pushing.

“Of nonsensical rules and inconsistency apparently. You obviously can’t manage your way out of wet paper bag.”

Seungcheol makes a quiet snorting sound that opens a furious scowl on Jeonghan's face. “I don’t like the cut of your jib, pal! Maybe the rules and pricing policy don’t make any sense. But don’t you forget whose name it is in big bright letters outside!” Jeonghan says tartly.

Jihoon flails his arms about in irritation, “There _are_ no names outside! Just a big neon sign that says 'Club Pledis'.”

Jeonghan considers the ceiling for a beat. “Oh, that’s right. We renovated.” He doesn't bother to look upset at being caught out. “Well, the place used to be called Hannie’s, but people kept mistaking it for a family friendly restaurant, so we changed it to Club Pledis.” He offers casually.

Seungcheol rubs his face and looks at Jeonghan sideways, as if he can't quite believe what comes out of his mouth sometimes.

Jihoon mutters under his breath about giving up.

“And the final rule: This isn’t a brothel, it’s a strip club. That means, no dance without pants okay. Except that there will be dancing and Seungcheol may take his pants off but you need to keep your pants on. You can’t ask for sexual acts of any nature.” Jeonghan points out in such a way that suggests Jihoon will protest, painfully.

Which makes it impossibly tempting.

“I’m aware of the law regarding sexual solicitation, thank you.” Jihoon protests, all threads of roughness and arrogance.

“There are safety alarms in every room. If you try anything—I’ll know about it. Before you know it—that room will be swarming with every single bouncer in the club.”

Jihoon gives him an affronted look. “That’s hardly necessary. I’m a small guy—S.Coup's could probably kick my ass single handed if I tried to force myself on him.” He says pointedly, which just makes him sound worse and incriminating

Jeonghan squints at him through dark eyes. A thousand shades of mistrust and curiosity. “That sounds to me like you’re going to try something!”

Jihoon groans into his palm. “No! I’m just saying, I’m hardly a threat to him. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Jeonghan ignores him completely and turns to the dancer. “I don’t have a good feeling about this guy Seungcheol. He’s clearly a sex pest.” He says, pointing at Jihoon like he's just proven him right and to be fair, Jihoon’s not making a very good show of proving him wrong.

“No, I’m not!” Jihoon adds, in what's actually an embarrassingly high tone of voice.

Seungcheol cuts Jeonghan a look, sort of annoyed and sort of embarrassed and sort of rattled all at once. “I’m sure I can handle him.”

There's still glaring, down the nose glaring, with bonus angry mouth. But Jeonghan lets him pass through, grudgingly.

“You’ve got half an hour.” Jeonghan explains as he checks off Seungcheol’s name and notes the time on his clipboard. “Enjoy your experience.” He adds, still several shades of sharpness past welcoming.

Jihoon moves to walk past the red curtain, but glances down in distaste when Jeonghan stops him again with a hand to his chest. “No funny business, I’ll be watching you.”

Jihoon is briefly, irritatingly, bewildered. “What? Like—through a two way mirror or something?”

 _“Maybe._ Got a problem with that too, have you?” Jeonghan asks curiously, tilting his head, in a way that is almost threatening.

“Absolutely, because it’s illegal outside of a police station and I’ll sue your ass.”

Jeonghan scoffs, “What are you, a lawyer?”

Jihoon shoves the hand off his chest, lips pursing cockily. “Yes. _I am_.” He says slowly, satisfaction mounting as Jeonghan’s eyes widen like dinner plates.  

“Well, shit.”

Seungcheol laughs, one quick, amused tear of sound before he takes Jihoon’s hand again and guides him through the curtains and down the corridor.

* * *

 

The Prosecco room is the sort of place that caters to the rich hedonist in lonely businessmen. Dim lights, the heady sent of leather and spice, the belly deep thump of music that rumbles beneath everything; it’s opulent and extravagant to the extreme.

It's also a few degrees cooler inside than out, though Jihoon waits in the dimness, waits and counts and doesn't bother to move far from the doorway.

Standing here in this private luxury has cemented something terrifying for him: Seungcheol is about to take off his clothes for him, get in his lap and rub against him.

He’d gotten an erection from just _watching_ Seungcheol’s performance; what if he gets hard while Seungcheol is on top of him? What if he grabs Seungcheol by accident? What if he comes?

Before he has time to start panicking about any of that, Seungcheol is guiding him down to sit on the couch.

“Sorry about that. Hannie means well—but he can be really intense sometimes. I hope that didn’t put you off?”

_Nothing can put me off you._

“Of course not. The man might think far too highly of himself and his own importance, but he cares about his staff which is good. And it makes sense to have rules. Even if the rules don’t make any sense.”

“He used to be a dancer too, before he took over.” Seungcheol provides as an explanation, or possibly as an excuse.

There's a curious, slightly more amused, noise, but otherwise Jihoon doesn't say a word.

“Some mood lighting?” Seungcheol asks, looking over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. He fingers the switch until the soft light in the room turns a rosy pink. “Any preferences?”

“I’ll go with your professional opinion.” Jihoon says, reaching up to loosen his tie and undo his top button, resting back easily against the couch.

Seungcheol smiles at him, turning the dial until the room is awash in a blue glow. “Champagne?” he offers, crossing to the wet bar.

“Will you join me?” Jihoon says, in a careful sort of way. He's not quite sure if Seungcheol is allowed to drink while at work and doesn’t want to pressure him either.

“If you like.” Seungcheol smiles, withdrawing two glasses, pouring significantly less into the one intended for himself.

Jihoon takes the opportunity to inspect in his surroundings. There is a small en-suite bathroom to the left of the wet bar and a sound and light system in one corner. The one detail that catches Jihoon’s attention and sets his pulse racing, is the small wooden stage with the shiny metal pole connecting the floor and ceiling.

The thought of Seungcheol getting anywhere near that is making him break out into a light sweat. He's suddenly very aware of a warm hand on his shoulder and a breathy voice in his ear. “Are you really a lawyer? Or did you just say that?”

He turns to see Seungcheol leaning over the armrest with a smile, wonderfully close but not close enough. “Yes, I’m really a lawyer. Why would I just say that?”

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulders lazily. “To make a point. People usually don’t admit to being a lawyer—it’s not considered an honourable profession.”

Jihoon laughs even though it’s an insult and takes the glass Seungcheol offers him. “That’s rich—coming from an exotic dancer.”

Seungcheol’s smirk grows. He slides down to the arm-rest to sit next to Jihoon. “Still more noble than a lawyer though.” He says, tilting his glass back to drain the small amount in one go.

“Fair point.” Jihoon agrees, resting against the back of the chair just so he can stay focused. He takes a sip from his flute, humming in appreciation as it bubbles down his throat, warming his belly quite pleasantly.

“I’m sorry you have to lower your standard of clients. Would you prefer it I told you I was a stock broker?”

He turns his head to find Seungcheol has shifted closer during the quiet pauses during their conversation, more than close enough to touch, close enough that Jihoon can feel the warm flare of his breath against his skin.

“A banker? In this financial climate?” Seungcheol sets his flute down, all half expression and consideration. “That might actually be worse than being a lawyer.”

Jihoon grins at that.

Seungcheol’s more than just a pretty face and a fucking delicious body. He’s intelligent and intriguing, and Jihoon wants to hear his thoughts, know his mind. It’s foolish, he realises almost instantly. That will probably never happen; after all, Jihoon is just another client to please.

“Okay then. What would you prefer I pretend to be?”

Laughing with his smile, Seungcheol looks at Jihoon from beneath his lashes. His mirth fades after a moment but the smile remains. “I’ll think of something, I like to role play.”

Jihoon flounders for a beat, because that could mean any number of things. “Like with anime costumes?”

Seungcheol chuckles, a hand raising to the side of Jihoon’s face so he can stroke a thumb across his ear. “No, no. Shush now.” He says, placing a finger over Jihoon’s lips and standing.

Jihoon swallows thickly, watching Seungcheol circle around him with a glint in his eyes.

Seungcheol moves to the far side of the room and presses a switch on the wall, and a slow beat with a bass line that thrums through Jihoon’s veins fills the room and overpowers the club music beyond the walls.

[First Song, strip tease.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbe3CQamF8k)

Immediately Jihoon likes the music because it’s not distracting as Seungcheol rises to the stage; the music is merely a guiding beat that will lead this performance.

Seungcheol steps forward on the stage, just far enough to be out of the reach of the blue light, standing just at the edge of its flare. He looks down at Jihoon, expression serene.

With the suit and strangely professional demeanour, he looks like he’s just delivered a well-executed briefing. For a moment Jihoon expects him to say, "Any questions?"

Rather, Seungcheol steps to the edge of the stage and slowly slides his fingers up his chest, fingers brushing along his neck before catching the collar of his jacket and slowly pushing it off. He lets the fabric slip away and fall to the floor in a heap.

To the slow beat of the music Seungcheol strips for him, fingers moving across his shirt buttons, climbing higher to skim up his neck before pulling the collar open. He slowly unbuttons the long row of buttons on his shirt, every measured flick of his fingers revealing more of the gleaming skin beneath it. 

Jihoon sits back, the arm not holding his glass settling over the back of the couch, eyes fixed on Seungcheol as he rolls his shoulders back slowly, exposing his chest and taut belly as the material slides sinuously down his arms.

The shirt flutters to the stage and twin flashes of silver draw Jihoon's gaze, but Seungcheol is already moving onward, fingers tugging playfully at the buttons of his beautifully fitted trousers – his other hand gliding across his chest to flick a nipple piercing.

Jihoon can already feel his pants growing tight, but he keeps his hands away from his cock—just barely.

Clothing litters the stage floor and Jihoon licks his lips, relishing every inch of bared skin, imagining he has left them there in his haste to strip Seungcheol, taste his skin. 

The best part of the whole strip tease is that, even though Jihoon’s stuck sitting on the couch, he feels like part of it. Seungcheol keeps their eyes locked for every second, not needing to look down to find the buttons and clasps of his clothing. When Seungcheol’s eyes soften or glaze at certain moments, his own fingers teasing his slowly-exposed skin, Jihoon images it’s his own hands caressing Seungcheol’s body, drawing him into the fantasy.

After a while Seungcheol is standing only in a tight pair of black briefs that might as well have been a thong, covering just enough in the front and offering a lovely view of Seungcheol’s exceptional ass when he spins slowly and— _fuck_ —bends over.

Jihoon has to set his flute of Champagne down before he spills it, because— _yeah_ , he no longer has eyes for anything but the low-riding waistband of Seungcheol's pants, and the slow bend of his spine.

Shortly after Seungcheol has finished stripping down, the music changes.

**[Second song, Pole dance music.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgPwx0DjrWw) **

The beat is still strong but it’s faster, offering more of a rhythm. Jihoon catches Seungcheol’s wink and confident smile before he strides over to the metal pole, fingers curling around the circumference in a very telling fashion.

Jihoon swallows back a groan, imagining those skilled fingers wrapping around his own length in the same way. Undoubtedly knowing what Jihoon is thinking, Seungcheol slides his grip up and down the pole a few times before stepping closer, pressing his body against the metal.

Jihoon isn’t quite sure what to expect, so when Seungcheol grips the pole firmly, lifts a foot against it and flips himself upside down—his jaw drops.  

But then Seungcheol grins and winks at him from his inverted position and Jihoon forces his jaw shut. Seriously, he needs to get a hold of himself.

He sits there, entranced, watching the hard planes of Seungcheol’s muscled stomach as he rotates his hips from an almost upside down positon. It’s an edge of your seat kinda display, especially when Seungcheol hooks his knee around the pole and twists down to the bottom with excruciating slowness. The movement, at once both erotic and graceful, makes Jihoon’s heart ache and his dick twitch.

Seungcheol pulls himself back up fluidly, stomach muscles twitching and clenching as they’re lit up by the lights above the stage. He grips the pole and swings up, tucking into a smooth twist, then grips it with both hands and spreads his legs open wide.

The entire routine is surreal; Seungcheol’s body moving like a fluid, amorphous thing as he arches and stretches his body sensually along the floor in between impressive acrobatics on the pole. None of his movements are overly rushed or clumsy; they're all liquid and planned. Somehow, even when he runs his hands over his body, bites his lips, and grinds his backside against the pole, he’s completely focused on Jihoon.

Seungcheol defies all expectations, as well as all common decency and every law Jihoon has ever tried to lay down for the sake of his poor, long-suffering sanity.

He feels the heat creep up his neck as the song nears its ending, and Seungcheol finishes with a manoeuvre that shows the long line of his back and the fine curve of his ass. He releases his grip on the pole, face flush with exertion and a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. Jihoon wants to touch so badly, wants to lick up the groove of Seungcheol’s spine and lose himself.

[Third Song. Background music, start of lap dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8t-I-Lqy06g)

For a long time, neither of them says anything. The pulsing beat of the music in the room is insistent but unobtrusive, while the beat of Jihoon’s heart is rapid and consuming.

“You look like you’re in pain.” Seungcheol finally says, in reaction to whatever Jihoon's face is doing. Which is apparently something bad.

Jihoon shakes his head slightly in bewilderment. “What?” He gasps, which gets him a raised eyebrow and a twist of mouth which might be a smirk or a wince.

“The look on your face—you look pained. Are you enjoying this?” Seungcheol asks, stepping off the stage.

Only then does Jihoon realise how tense he is, how he’s practically clawing the arm-rest. He tries for a reassuring expression. “Yes, I am. Absolutely.”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow for a moment, trying to read him for a lie. “Really?”

“Yes. I swear.” Jihoon says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I guess I just have resting bitch face or something.”

Seungcheol grins, looking far more relieved now. “Even when you’re at a strip club getting a private dance?” He jests, stepping closer until he stands between Jihoon’s legs, forcing his knees apart.

Jihoon rubs the back of his neck. “Apparently.” _Or maybe I’m wrestling with my inner demons._

“You need to relax.” Seungcheol murmurs, as he knees himself onto the couch, straddling Jihoon’s thighs, a knee pressed against each of Jihoon’s hips.

Jihoon inhales, half fright and half surprise at the invasion of space. “Uhmm—Okay.” He whispers, leaning back to give Seungcheol more room to perch atop him.

His nostrils flare as Seungcheol slides his hands up his chest, until he can curl them around the back of his neck. He can probably feel Jihoon’s pulse racing under his fingers, feel the way Jihoon is quivering with indecision and jittery arousal.

Jihoon has no idea what to do with his arms so he just sort of holds them as far away from Seungcheol as possible, in a way that he hopes doesn't look awkward but almost certainly is. He doesn't really know where to go from there.

Seungcheol's thumb trails over his mouth, in a way that leaves it tingling and half-open. “You’re so polite. Almost too polite.” He chides without any malice. “You can touch me, you know. I won’t bite.” he challenges, his lips pouty and eyes hooded.

“Oh. Okay. Uh, sure.” Jihoon flushes, not sure where to put his hands. They hover awkwardly in the space between their bodies for a moment, before Jihoon reaches out and pokes Seungcheol in the stomach, like he’s a fucking tourist picking items off a foreign dinner menu or something.

Seungcheol giggles. “Or you could poke me I guess. Poking _is_ technically touching—but not what I had in mind.”

Jihoon is infinitely grateful for the dim lighting in the room when he feels his face go hot. “Sorry,” he offers awkwardly, “I’m new at this.”

“No way! _Really_?” Seungcheol gasps, adding a little theatre to his tone. It’s not mocking or cruel; Seungcheol is seemingly charmed by Jihoon’s awkwardness and fumbling.

Jihoon ducks his head sheepishly. “This is my second time to visit a club, and the first time wasn’t by choice. I’m kinda winging this.”

“Hmmm. Any regrets so far?”

“Hell no.” Jihoon says simply.

Contrary to what his outward appearance might normally suggest, Jihoon isn’t a prude, but intimacy outside of someone he is romantically involved with is something completely new.

Seungcheol smiles again, dimples popping out “Here, how about this?” He says, taking Jihoon’s hands in his own.

Jihoon stares at him in wonder as he positions them on his hips, before winding his arms around Jihoon’s neck, pulling them closer. “That’s better, isn’t it?” He murmurs against the edge of Jihoon's cheek, and it's soft, it's so _very_ _soft_.

“Yes.” Jihoon croaks, groaning a little when Seungcheol starts to roll his hips. He shuts his eyes and lets his head drop back, loving the feel of Seungcheol’s warm, hard body pressed to his.

It doesn’t take long for Jihoon’s arousal to return full force. It’s incredibly difficult to maintain any kind of control with a gorgeous man straddling his lap. And Seungcheol’s body in motion is a thing of beauty. The way he surges up against Jihoon, swaying to the beat of the song is more than enough to get him hard.

[Fourth Song, Lapdance.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYLF45tNgnw)

Seungcheol's rhythm shifts to coincide with the beat of the next song, and Jihoon realizes quite quickly that this is more than just grinding down in somebody’s lap, it’s a fucking art form. Seungcheol is moving his warm weight against Jihoon again and again at just the angle and pressure Jihoon needs to feel his skin tingle.

He feels so emboldened by the moment, so happy to have the man rolling against him, that he feels brave enough to let his hands roam. Seungcheol’s skin is hot under his palms, but dry enough that he slides them easily down his sides and back up his abdomen.

“Yeah, that’s more like it.” Seungcheol whispers encouragingly.

Jihoon hesitates once again as his hands smooth up Seungcheol’s chest; the glint of metal piercings catching his attention. They’re different than before; metallic bars replacing the ring Seungcheol had been wearing last week.

Jihoon rests his hands on the sides of Seungcheol’s pecs, not touching the piercings yet but breathtakingly close, and with the most careful pressure, he sweeps his thumbs across the stiffened buds.

Seungcheol had opened his mouth, half-way to speaking but never actually managing it. Any remarks he might have wanted to make are cut in half, there's just air, and a swallow that ends in a sound which is most certainly appreciative. Jihoon does it again, scratching lightly until the skin flushes and Seungcheol gasps at the friction, eyes fluttering shut

Jihoon should probably ask him if this is alright, but words are too difficult right now. There's no hesitation, he's not sure he's even thinking, he's just reacting. He's vaguely aware that the phrase 'impaired judgement' belongs here somewhere.

The metal barbells are so present; small, localized heat sources on Seungcheol’s skin and Jihoon circles his thumbs over them in a gentle flicking motion, again and again and again.

Someone makes a soft, broken noise and Jihoon thinks for a moment that it's him, but it's not, it's Seungcheol.

When Jihoon raises his head to look at him, Seungcheol's eyes are almost black, his mouth is half-open and both his hands are curled into fists at his sides. The silky fabric of his pants are thin enough to show that Seungcheol is totally into the whole impromptu nipple touching. Which - fuck - the idea that Jihoon has played some part in giving Seungcheol an erection is doing so many things.

This is going in his poem for sure.

He grazes the pads of his thumbs over them once more, tugging gently on the edge of the piercing and Seungcheol's eyes refocus into something suspiciously bright. “You like my piercings?” He asks.

Jihoon licks his lips and nods slowly.

Seungcheol's lashes flutter at the next teasing caress and he weathers his bottom lip before speaking. “I had them changed recently, so they’re really sensitive.”

Jihoon pulls his hands off so fast he almost smacks himself in the face. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry!” He gasps, instantly horrified at himself.

“Don’t!” Seungcheol laughs, melting against Jihoon. He takes Jihoon’s hands in his own and draws them up to his naked chest encouraging him to continue his exploration. “Do what you want.”

Jihoon hesitates for another beat, but when Seungcheol pouts at his reluctance, he tentatively returns his touch. 

[Fifth Song, Lapdance--lower touch.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ila-hAUXR5U)

Throughout the fifth song, Jihoon lets his hands roam freely while Seungcheol dances, trying to drink in every detail with his eyes. Seungcheol really is beautiful like this. Body warm and strong against Jihoon, skin flushed and lips parted as they both grow breathless, eyes dancing whenever he catches Jihoon staring slack jawed.

“You can touch me lower if you like.” Seungcheol whispers, hips rolling forward as he speaks, mouth hovering scant inches from Jihoon’s.

The suggestion makes arousal flare, quick and brutal, inside him and Jihoon can't think of a single good reason to say no. He swallows so that he doesn’t moan instead. “Wouldn’t that be breaking the rules?”

Seungcheol huffs a short breath of laughter and shakes his head. “I’m letting you.” He clarifies, hand soft on Jihoon’s cheek.

Jihoon gaze is fixed on his mouth, still sceptical but he lets Seungcheol direct his hands again easily enough to the back of his thighs, fingers digging into the taut flesh. Seungcheol once again puts his arms about Jihoon’s neck, his back arching as his hips swivel and roll he rubs himself in Jihoon’s lap.

Deciding that it would be a shame to waste this opportunity, Jihoon allows his fingers to skim over Seungcheol’s body while the dancer moves against him. He spreads the expanse of his palms along Seungcheol’s thighs and back, digging his nails into Seungcheol's bare thighs and trying to claw him closer.

Seungcheol encourages him with every grind of his hips and every sliding push of his thighs, urging Jihoon to continue with a shaky moan of approval when he squeezes the firm flesh hard.

There's a different quality, now, to the air in the room, thick as it is with their heavy breathing.

“Talk to me.” Seungcheol says, his voice low; husky.

“Uhh—okay. The weathers shit as usual.” Jihoon hazards at appropriate conversation.

Seungcheol chuckles, head tipped back but still watching him, eyes dancing with amusement. “I’m giving you a lap dance, not a haircut.”

Jihoon would feel foolish except he can hear the affection hidden behind the teasing. “I’m sorry. I’m really bad at this.”

“You’re actually not. Stop apologising. Just relax and say the first thing that comes to mind.”

Jihoon releases one long exhale, clearing his mind. When he looks up at Seungcheol he's struck by the sudden need to tell him how gorgeous he is.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He murmurs, the seductive husk he was going for coming out more shaky than he likes.

Seungcheol beams at him, seemingly pleased. He leans forward and his breath shudders delicately in Jihoon's ear as he rocks against him to the music, “Thank you.”

“And an amazing dancer.” Jihoon adds, feeling a little bolder, a little braver as he slides his hands down to feel the curve of Seungcheol’s ass under his black pants. He digs his fingers in, feeling his own fingernails push at tanned skin, watching as Seungcheol takes a long shuddering breath and pushes his ass back against the pressure.

“Thanks.”

“And you have really pretty eyes.” he adds, in a quieter, more affectionate tone of voice.

Jihoon doesn't miss the shivery little exhale the words get him from the dancer, hips losing their rhythm for just a second. Seungcheol’s hands tighten on his shoulders once and then go carefully still.

He shifts back a little on Jihoon’s lap to look at him. The silence is a living thing for a handful of heartbeats and Jihoon watches the line of Seungcheol's shoulders tense, then relax almost imperceptibly.

He’s certain that Seungcheol is blushing now, which strikes Jihoon as equally curious and endearing; after all, how many other clients has Seungcheol danced for? Jihoon can’t be the first guy to notice Seungcheol’s beauty, or show him attention.

**[Sixth Song--grinding lap dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AaXaig_43lU) **

The song changes then, the beat hard and throbbing. And Seungcheol picks up his rhythm again.

“This is really nice.” Jihoon tries to speak again, but his voice doesn't even work anymore, it's just breath, and bits and pieces of words.

“Hmmm. Good.” Seungcheol murmurs in his ear, breath rushing into every curve, in a way that shivers all the way through Jihoon, pools low and hot.

Before Jihoon can say another word, Seungcheol rocks his hips forward with determination, pressing his crotch directly against Jihoon’s and causing him to curse under his breath.

“Oh—sweet-fuck.” Jihoon feels fingers brush his lips before Seungcheol is winding his arms more solidly around him, bringing them chest to chest.

“You don’t need to say anything else. Just enjoy,” Seungcheol gives a breathy sigh into his ear.

They're pressed so close together that every twitch and shift just points out how hard they both now are, and Jihoon has no qualms about dragging Seungcheol in at exactly the right angle to make everything just a little more urgent. It's an unsubtle demand for attention and Seungcheol feels obliged to cede, returning the enthusiasm by grinding his cock against Jihoon's thigh.

Jihoon is swearing, and whatever control he might have still had is quickly being overruled by instinct and desperation and pure selfish need.

Seungcheol has lost what little rhythm he had, thrusts turned into short, ragged shoves that make Jihoon’s hands grip his ass tighter, words breaking off to make room for tight aching noises. He’s clearly no better off, and when he tips his head back there is no one emotion left, just a mess of impatience and arousal.

A hard knock at the door then, signalling the end of their session makes them both freeze.

There is a long, strange pause, made even stranger by the fact that neither of them has made any attempt to move away from the other. It's impossible not to say something, not to -

"Uhmm—I hope you enjoyed your experience." Seungcheol starts.

Jihoon exhales out a tragic little sound and lifts his hands, smiling weakly as Seungcheol manoeuvres himself off his lap to sit on the couch.

He takes a moment to compose himself, but there’s no way his erection is going down anytime soon. He can hear Seungcheol breathing, still short and rough, can see his finger marks imprinted on Seungcheol's thigh, which makes him swallow something that wants to be a groan but isn't quite sure why.

He flips his wallet open to withdraw several crisp bills with casual ease, knowing full well there isn’t enough money in the world to tip Seungcheol the way he wants to.

Before he can pull the money out, Seungcheol’s hand settles over his.

“It’s on the house.”

Jihoon blinks at him. “Uh..why?” has to ask, because he can't not, he deals in specifics after all, and this is unexpected.

“Hannie’s customer service was sadly lacking for your first experience here.” Seungcheol says quietly.

Jihoon shakes his head. “That’s—not your fault. I had a good time.” He says, moving once again to tip him.

“No.” Seungcheol’s voice is calm but brutally firm. “You can tip me nicely next time.” He adds teasingly, face softening into a guileless smile.

Jihoon blinks at him. “Next time? What makes you so sure I’ll be back?”

Seungcheol flushes, face falling. “Won’t you?”

Jihoon looks at him, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he reaches to stroke his fingers down Seungcheol’s cheek. His thumb caressing across Seungcheol’s mouth, dragging over his lips.

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Well, that's as far as I got to writing this before I started the bank fic. So the next chapter won't be up quite as quickly.  
> 2) SEUNGCHEOL!!!!! That guy.....honestly.  
> 3) I listened to a lot of stripper music playlists until I got just the right songs I wanted for this. It's not even stuff I would normally listen to--but.....can You imagine Seungcheol dancing to it!!!!???  
> 4) Here is how I imagine Seungcheol after the pole dance and during the lap dance. You don't need to click here but it's a lovely picture and great imagery and yeah--you should click.  
> [ Seungcheol is a thing of beauty, like wtf, tis picture is hot.](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/867569558353301505)  
> 5) Feedback is appreciated.


	4. Wagers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon is so whipped.

The unexpected turn of events starts, as these things often do, with a failed bet.

Soonyoung pulls a chair up to where Jihoon, Wonwoo and Jun are having lunch.

Jihoon’s given up on the indigestible, unappetising excuse for a healthy salad he bought to focus on his poem.

So, yeah-he’s giving that another shot. Fuck off.

At the moment he can't think of any other good words that rhyme with buttocks. There must be tons, but he just can't remember any of them right now.

Not ones that don't sound hilarious anyway. And this poem is not intended to be hilarious. It’s going to be moving, evoking— _passionate_. People will look back at his poem, wipe their eyes, sniff and say “Fuck—that’s beautiful.”

Soonyoung nudges him in the elbow. “What are they arguing about?” he says, unwrapping his sandwich.

Jihoon looks up at Jun and Wonwoo, who are on the other side of the table, engaged in a heated debate over ... well, Jihoon's honestly not sure what they're arguing about this time.

Wonwoo is standing with a stapler in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He looks like he's considering using one or both for purposes they were never intended. Against Jun.

They seem to be fighting over a hip flask; contents unknown, but it’s definitely too early to be drinking.

Jun has no weapons—but he has the hip flask.

And an orange.

But that can’t be considered a weapon my any means. Jihoon’s fairly sure no one's coming out of this with their dignity intact. Covered in coffee and staples and segments of orange, possibly, dignified, not a chance in hell.

Jihoon shakes his head. “Who cares. Give me a word that rhymes with firm.”

“Uhh—perm?” Soonyoung suggests.

“No.”

“Germ?”

“No, it’s gotta be _sexier_. A sexy word.”

Soonyoung presses his mouth tight and obviously tries to think of a sexy word that rhymes. It looks like it hurts. “Oh!” He seems to have decided on something, Jihoon recognises the weird little half smile he gets when he's about to dazzle them with his brain.

“Worm!” He suddenly provides.

Jihoon gives him his own special 'you're an idiot' face. “How is that sexy?”

Soonyoung leers, like he has his own secret definition of worm, that is more interesting than Jihoon's. “Let me put it in a sentence for you.”

“No. No thanks.”

Soonyoung laughs and digs an elbow into the side of his chest. “Writing another poem about your stripper crush? I’ve got a word that rhymes with Lee Jihoon— _lame.”_

_That in no way rhymes._

Jihoon’s face is a full-fledged scowl-and it’s only 1pm. His full-fledged scowls usually take shape around 4pm at the earliest. “ ** _No._** I’m just collecting a list of rhyming words. Despite what you might think, my life doesn’t revolve around S.Coups yanno.”

_Yes, it does._

“I don’t think about him 24/7.”

_Yes, I do._

“For all you know, this could be a poem about my mother.”

_It’s not._

Jihoon’s not above lying, especially when the case he’s working is about as exciting as watching someone else, watch someone else, watching paint dry.

“Your mother? Really?—Okay then.” Soonyoung acquiesces. There's a wealth of dubious disbelief there, and recently Soonyoung’s become an expert at dubious disbelief when it comes to Jihoon and his stripper issues.

Jihoon goes back to his poem, makes a few adjustments. Crosses out several lines because nothing rhymes with ‘nipples’ either. In the meantime Wonwoo has cunningly acquired the hip flask, _somebody_ has stapled Jun’s shirt sleeves together, and the bottom of Soonyoung’s sandwich has fallen out all over the table. Jihoon’s spitefully glad, but he's still no closer to finding a suitable word than rhymes.

He likes poems that rhyme; they flow and they're easier to remember. Although he suspects nobody could forget a poem that has the work 'cock' in it ten times in one paragraph.

Jihoon sighs in exasperation. “Give me a word that rhymes with buttocks.”

Soonyoung makes a horrified face and Jihoon can see that out of context that would sound amazingly bad. “This poem is not about my mother.”

“Buttocks doesn’t rhyme with anything Jihoon, change it to ass. Lots of words rhyme with ass.” Wonwoo suggests, adding a generous splash of something from the hip flask to his coffee. 

Jihoon sighs, in a way that says in no uncertain terms that changing the word too ass is no way going to improve his poem. “But buttocks sounds more— _respectful_.”

Soonyoung tips his chair sideways until he can see over Jihoon's shoulder. “You’re writing respectful poems about firm asses?”

Jihoon grips the side of his notepad and promptly whacks him in the face with it, then utterly fails to react to Soonyoung’s annoyed face.

Undeterred, Soonyoung leans farther over Jihoon's shoulder and pulls a face at the scribblings. “You’re definitely getting better at the pornographic sketches. You draw a good cock.”

“Change it to ass. Then you could rhyme it with, class, mass, grass, pass, sass-“ Wonwoo says, in a way that's clearly supposed to be helpful.

“Hmm. I wouldn’t pass on your class ass.” Jihoon recites. _Hmm—no that’s almost too rhymy._

“Or how about, no matter how many days pass—I still want to wreck your ass?” He regrets that almost as soon as it's out of his mouth. _Too forward._

“Or, I would like to roll around in the grass before pounding your sweet ass.” That sounded better in his head. In his head it sounded poetic, out loud it sounds stupid. What are they even doing rolling around in the grass in the first place?

He taps his pen against his chin for a moment, deep in thought, then realises that nobody else has said anything for a really long time. When he looks up, the others are all staring at him.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow at them, and they all raise an eyebrow back.

“What?”

Soonyoung clears his throat. “Jihoon—we need to talk.”

“Let’s not.” Jihoon dismisses, flipping the page on his notepad over especially violently. Talking about Seungcheol always leaves him sweaty and confused, and convinced that he's actually getting stupider every time he mentions the guy.

“Can I ask what this poem is in reference to?” Jun asks looking cautiously intrigued.

Jihoon purposefully ignores him on the grounds that it will fucking incriminate him.

Soonyoung says 'umm' in a confused, lost sort of way, like he honestly can't think of a single thing to say. Which may possibly be the end of the world, or a sign of the impending apocalypse at least.

“It’s about Jihoon’s stripper crush.” Wonwoo lays a hand across his chest, affecting a swoon.

“Stripper crush?” Jun sounds disturbingly like a scandalised housewife.

“He’s not just a stripper. He’s a performer, an artist.” Jihoon corrects, though they all know that's stretching the definition a bit far.

“Yeah, me and Wonu took Jihoon to a strip club the other week. Now he’s obsessed with this stripper he met there. This S.Coups guy. Now, he’s writing poetry about a guy, who dances for a hundred other men for a living.” Soonyoung offers up eventually, as if that explains everything, which to be fair, it does.

Jun stares at both him and Soonyoung, like they might be playing some sort of elaborate joke on him.

“Brass, also rhymes with ass.” Wonwoo provides, possibly in the hopes that a random observation will help ease the tension.

“The rhyming segment of our lunch is over Wonu.” Soonyoung tells him in his 'stop interrupting this is very, very important' voice.

Jun looks uncomfortable for all of half a second, then gleefully says. “Where is this strip club anyway? Should I check it out? Sounds like fun.”

Soonyoung groans into his palm. “No Jun—don’t you start.”

“Don’t listen to him Jun. You _should_ check it out. Come with me this evening.” Jihoon suggests.

“Maybe I will. I wanna check out this guy that has Lee Jihoon writing dirty poetry.” Jun says thoughtfully.  

Jihoon knows he should be insulted by the hint of amusement there, but he’s too busy scowling at that suggestion of Jun checking Seungcheol out. Though he realises, logically, that Seungcheol is checked out by hundreds of people when he’s on stage. There’s no reason for this curl of envy he feels in his gut.

Soonyoung snorts. “Careful Jun. You don’t want to incur the wrath of Jihoonie here. You should probably pick another stripper to check out while you’re there. S.Coups is _Jihoon’s_ stripper.”

 _“He’s not my stripper!”_ Jihoon snarls.

Which in no way makes everyone within a fifty foot radius turn and look at them.

"Good job on the inside voice there," Soonyoung says and pats Jihoon on the shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to deny it. We understand, you’re a territorial guy. We’ve learned to accept that about you. It’s probably why you flip at us when we borrow your things.”

“Like your stapler for instance. Remember threatening to staple my nut sack?” Wonwoo provides.

“You returned it without staples. That’s just rude.”

“Or that time I borrowed that book and you forced me to give myself a paper cut.” Jun offers.

“You returned it with the pages all dog-eared!”

“Remember that time I took a French fry off your plate and you karate chopped my hand?” Soonyoung says.

“That wasn’t borrowing. That was fucking thievery! Nobody borrows food! You were never going to return the French fry! Get your own fucking plate of French fries!” He snaps. And he’s still using his outside voice so that gets him horrified looks from at least five faces.

Soonyoung laughs and holds up a hand as if to demolish his argument. “It’s okay Jihoon. You don’t have to be defensive. S.Coups isn’t a French fry, but you’re obviously whipped for the guy.”

Jihoon bristles at the implication. He’s never been whipped for anything in his life. “I am not whipped.” He splutters, aware that a fierce blush has crept onto his cheeks. “Wonwoo back me up here.”

He looks at Wonwoo for help, but Wonwoo’s carefully buried his face behind an enormous mug of something that smells a little like coffee and a lot like Bailey's.

Soonyoung snorts. “Wonwoo is the one who told me about how whipped you are. He’s the one who told me about all the private sessions in the first place. I know you go a lot more than you let on.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes at Wonwoo. “You traitorous dick.”

Wonwoo cowers like a dog who’s been caught rifling through the garbage. “Sorry Hoona. But—you ask for a private session every night you go there. That guys raking in more tips from you then any other dancer. You’re easy money.”

“I don’t ask for a private session every night.” Jihoon feels compelled to point that out. Because he doesn't. Not every time.

Sure, _most_ evenings he gets a private dance. He doesn't set out with that plan; he prefers to live moment-to-moment, and if the mood strikes him, if he wants to ask Seungcheol for a private dance, well, Jihoon likes the element of surprise in the gesture, the genuine dimpled smile that crosses Seungcheol's face when he says, “Of course, right this way cherry tomato.” But he wouldn't want Seungcheol to come to expect such things from him.

“It’s not just the private sessions Jihoonie. You should see yourself around this guy, you’re soft. I’m pretty sure you ask for all those private sessions so that nobody else gets a go.” Wonwoo says over his mug of not-entirely-coffee.

Jihoon huffs and folds over his notebook. This atmosphere is hardly conducive to writing beautiful, passionate, award winning, respectful stripper odes.

He’s really not in the mood to discuss this anymore but Soonyoung is as persistent as a terrier. “Okay—I’ll wager you can’t go to the club later and let somebody else get a private session with him.”

_Then why bother going?—Fuck!_

Jihoon’s brow furrows pensively.  "So you’re saying I'm allowed to go to the club, watch the performance, but I'm not allowed to have a private session with S.Coups?"

Soonyoung nods firmly, “Yes.”

Jihoon takes a minute to think about that. “What’s in it for me?”

“Honour? Respect? Pride? Admiration?” Soonyoung offers.

“I don’t need any of those things!” Jihoon argues.

Soonyoung sighs. “Fine. I’ll fart really loud at the next firm meeting.”

“You do that already.” Wonwoo says pointedly.

“I’ll do the ground work for your next case.” He huffs.

“And if I lose this bet?” Jihoon says cautiously. Just in case he loses the bet. That happens a lot.

Soonyoung grins at the possibility, a bit more widely than strictly necessary. “We get to tease you about this as much as we like……and you have to come with me to the dentist and hold my hand.”

Fuck—it’s almost not worth it. Soonyoung’s a total pussy when it comes to getting fillings.

Jihoon takes another moment to think that through. Sure, he might be carrying a little bit of a torch for Seungcheol.

Okay—maybe it’s more like the Olympic fucking flame, but—the guy’s breath-taking. It’s hardly Jihoon’s fault that Seungcheol punches every button with a direct pipeline to his dick. He does it gloriously, and gorgeously, and outrageously, and a whole bunch of other things, and god, it’s irritating, but Jihoon isn’t exactly in control of the way his brain has chosen to misfire, is he?

But when bragging rights are on the line, when it's a test of willpower and showmanship, when it's for a bloody bet, Jihoon has no intention of giving in easily.

“Alright—Deal.”

* * *

 

“Woah, this place is nice.” Jun says, taking a seat at their table.

It’s their table now. _Their table._ That’s how often they’ve come here. They have their own, specially designated table. It’s close enough to the stage for Jihoon to see every bead of sweat that glides down Seungcheol’s skin on stage, whilst being a convenient distance from the bar. Perfect.

Of course, not everyone appreciates that it’s THEIR table. Occasionally Jihoon and Wonwoo will arrive to find a gaggle of business men seated there. Jihoon doesn’t like to kick up a fuss over it though. He simply takes a seat elsewhere and lets Wonwoo scowl them to death until they move.

At least he is using his scowling powers on someone else for a change.

“Yanno—if I hadn’t been forcibly coerced into Law school by my parents, I think I would have become a stripper. I think I would have been good at it too.” Jun says.

Jihoon thinks about grabbing Juns's drink and taking a sip to check exactly how high the alcohol content is. His hand twitches toward the glass.

Jun rolls his eyes like he knows what Jihoon is thinking. He downs the rest of the drink in two swallows and says, “You’re just jealous you don’t have a strippers body, like me.” He says, smoothing a hand down his supposedly stripper worthy body.

Jihoon refrains from giving him the strange look that deserves. He does however, affect a gag.

“What would you have been had you not become a lawyer?” Jun says after a quiet spell.

“A legal aid.” Jihoon answers quickly, he doesn't even have to think about.

“No, I mean—something different.” Jun says, gesturing vaguely with his free hand, “Something away from the lawyer stuff.”

“A bailiff.”

Jun sighs. “That’s still law related.”

“The court stenographer.”

“That’s law related too!” Jun snaps.

“The guy who sets up the evidence exhibits.”

“Why can’t you think outside of the box?”

“The guy who makes everyone get out of their seats by announcing ALL RISE!”

Jun shakes his head in disappointment. “What is it with you and this job dude?”

“I like being a lawyer.” Jihoon says with an effortless shrug. “Nobody forced me into it, and it’s one of the few things I’m actually good at.  Maybe you can’t say the same for yourself, but I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“Hmm. Explains why you have such a great winning streak.” Jun offers thoughtfully.

Jihoon has a lot he can say to that, but the air in the room seems thicker, the music and voices around them dull to a stifled hum and the MC takes the stage.

“Shhhh—the show’s about to start!” Jihoon whispers as the music of a new track starts and drowns out the inane chatter around them.

[Seungcheol show music.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccY25Cb3im0)

Seungcheol’s routine is—amazing as expected. Highlight of the night in Jihoon’s very biased opinion.

Especially the outfit. The outfit is perfect.

[Seungcheol Routine outfit](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/869374238519635969)

Seungcheol takes to the stage in a cloud of mist and red lights. All black leather and pale skin, wet hair an untidy slant across his forehead.

“Oh god. That’s him.” Jihoon gasps, jostling Jun’s arm.

He waves at Seungcheol like a proud parent at a dance recital. Which is just plain weird and Jun raises an eyebrow at his antics.

Listening to himself simper is sort of an out of body experience, and Jihoon wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at himself. He knows he’s grinning from ear to ear and he knows it makes him look like a huge dork but he just can't stop. “Look—it’s he gorgeous?” he groans.

Over the tightest pair of dark leather pants, Seungcheol’s wearing a sleeveless top. His bare shoulders and back overlaid with leather straps that cross around the chest and neck.

It doesn't look like something that should allow for a lot of flexibility, too sharp, too unyielding. There's something about its brutal efficient collection of straps and clips, something skirting on the edges of gothic obscenity. But Seungcheol turns it into something sensual, lends it its own stark elegance.

Seungcheol's worn more complicated things before, but the fact that he manages to rip the fabric out from underneath the leather holster is still an impressive sight.

With the absence of the shirt, the leather contrasts gorgeously against his bare skin, hard and soft at the same time where it presses flat into his back and shoulders. It pinches tight in curves along his hips when he tugs on the straps, pressing and digging when he flexes his arms.

The belt comes off next, slithering out of the loops in one long hush of sound. Where a normal guy would have to spend five minutes tugging to get it free, Seungcheol just pulls in one movement, all hands and half open mouth, and Jihoon doesn't think he has any sort of defence against that.

With his pants discarded Seungcheol does a striking backflip before dropping to the ground and doing a chest roll, in that push-glide snake-like way that manages to scatter all of Jihoon's sensible thoughts across the room.

With the way the lights flicker on the stage, every roll of his hips, every slow movement looks a thousand times filthier than it should.

“Fuck—so sexy. Look at him go.” Jihoon hisses, aggressively nudging Jun in the shoulder.

 “Jihoon, you’re hurting my arm dude.” Jun whines, rubbing his injured limb.

 

* * *

 

After the show draws to a close and the lights brighten once more, himself and Jun make short work of another round of drinks and make usual conversation about work.

Soon, Seungcheol appears in his frame of vision, all wet hair, smirking mouth and the faint traces of eyeliner. Which normally Jihoon finds overdone on guys, but on Seungcheol it's just an echo of darkness around the edges and Jihoon thinks he might finally understand how that works.

Jihoon aims to make a surprised-but-contained reaction that conveys ‘Oh, I didn’t expect to see you, but I am not shocked and I am able to easily integrate this into my day’, but there's something almost feral about Seungcheol's expression as he approaches their table. And Jihoon find himself sitting up taller as he nears

“Hello handsome.” Seungcheol purrs, hand brushing along Jihoon’s shoulders as he walks behind his seat.

“He—hi.” Jihoon tries to ignore the stupid flutter in his chest that has become annoyingly familiar whenever he has these run-ins with Seungcheol.

_Remember the fucking bet!_

“Back again? _And_ you brought new friends?” Seungcheol grins, perching on the armrest of Jihoon’s chair.

Jihoon shrugs and looks away. “Yeah—he heard about the place and I was coming anyway, so.”

He tries to keep it casual, act like Seungcheol's just passing by. A temporary distraction and nothing more. That kind of feigned disinterest is hard for him; he's never felt anything remotely akin to disinterest towards Seungcheol since he met him. 

“Welcome,” Seungcheol greats Jun graciously. “I hope you enjoyed the show?” He says, and Jihoon has a feeling that was directed at him, but he’s too busy trying to look—well— _too_ _busy_ , to look at Seungcheol.

“I did. You were—very good.” Jun fills in cheerfully, smoothing over the moment. “I’m particularly impressed at how you managed to get out of those leather straps so quickly. I got whiplash from just watching you.” Jun says and Seungcheol, in a possible fit of temporary insanity, throws his head back and laughs!

He laughs like Jun is actually charming or something. Which is a bit much if Jihoon’s being honest. He knows Jun; Jun’s hilarious potential is _okayish_. Definitely not throw your head back and laugh worthy for sure.

Seungcheol’s just being polite— _obviously_.  Still—Jihoon find himself frowning, bizarrely jealous.

Jun, naturally, doesn’t a miss a beat, finding every excuse to ask Seungcheol questions and beg for anecdotes about his life as a stripper. He’s all charm and suave, rather shamelessly in Jihoon’s opinion, and he’s pretty sure it’s all designed to get under his skin.

Seungcheol enjoys the attention though, no matter how orchestrated it might be on Jun’s part. He chuckles warmly at more of Jun’s non-funny jokes and even smiles at him, _with dimples._

Jihoon shifts uncomfortably in his seat and really hopes he doesn't look as horrified as he currently feels. He’s 100% certain he’s seen snuff films that were less nauseating, less rage-inducing than the sight in front of him.

After twenty minutes of the Junhui Show, Jihoon pointedly clears his throat loudly. It’s his go-to passive aggressive gesture that suggests Jun shut the fuck up.

Seungcheol turns to face him fully, the downward slant of his lips almost pleading. “So, Jihoon--have any big plans for the evening?”

“Nope” Jihoon shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and just stares straight ahead with an oddly awkward sort of resistance. He wants to say yes. He wants to ask for a private session so badly. But he has to prove Soonyoung wrong.

When he says nothing more, Seungcheol’s face flits between disappointment, concern and confusion, before finally settling on acceptance.

It’s a dismissal, clear as daylight, but Seungcheol pushes on. He nods slowly, drags a hand through his damp hair and opens a new line of conversation.

“Can I interest either of you gentlemen in a private dance?” He asks them, but he’s still looking straight at Jihoon as he says it— _expectant_.

Jihoon opens his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Jun.

“Me please.” Jun says, raising his hand like a fucking teachers pet! “I’d love one. I didn’t think I wanted a private dance, but you’ve really put me— _In the mood.”_ He drags out the last few words, makes them sound indulgent...pervert.

Seungcheol’s eyes slide away from Jihoon and he smiles politely, if a little strained. “Sure.” He says.

In the space of one word, Jihoon’s mood plummets from annoyed to downright furious. It’s a small word, simple. Only four letters long. But it’s enough to rock his foundations.

“Awesome. I’ll go set up the room.” Seungcheol says as Jihoon tries not to asphyxiate on his own jealousy.

“Great. Can’t wait.” Jun says, smiling at Seungcheol as he walks away. He isn't even trying to look innocent about the whole thing and it offends Jihoon practically on a professional level.

“You’re right Jihoon, he is hot.” Jun drawls, kicking back, cocking one elbow behind his head, with picture-perfect smug satisfaction.

Jihoon wants to hit him.

Instead, he waits until Seungcheol is completely out of sigh before he turns on Jun. He manages to keep his voice to a furious whisper, but it's a close thing. “You’re not going to have that private session.”

Jun flounders for a few blinks, “What?”

“He’s my favourite—you can’t have a session with him.” Jihoon tries to keep his voice level, but he fears a less than sensible strain of 'disturbed jealous boyfriend' has crept in.

Jun’s grinning now, a sly tilt to his mouth. “If you wanted a session with him so badly, why didn’t you speak up when he offered?”

Jihoon opens his mouth, frowns, shuts it.

"Are you folding on the bet?" Jun says firmly when Jihoon can't provide a meaningful answer.

Jihoon opens his mouth, frowns twice as hard, shuts it—all over again.

“Are you admitting that you’re territorial and possessive? Jealous even? _Whipped_ for the guy?” Jun says with a quirk of his brow.

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever.” Jihoon feigns an air of boredom about the matter. “We’ll find you another dancer, okay.”

“No, I think I’ll have my private session with him, thank you very much.” Jun says smugly.

Jihoon grits his teeth against the rush of instinctive anger. He levers himself up out of his seat, reaches over and hauls Jun forward by his tie until they’re nose to nose. “Listen here Jun. I like you—you’re slightly less annoying than Soonyoung, but more annoying than Wonwoo. You’re a good middle range friend. But that still means I barely tolerate you so do yourself a favour and— ** _don’t—piss—me—off.”_** Jihoon growls through his teeth.

“Alright! Okay—chill.” Jun placates with raised palms, eyeing him like he's the maddest person in the whole world.

“You started it.” Jihoon tosses back the last of his vodka, still feeling out of sorts

“Maybe, but you can be really mean sometimes.” Jun huffs, slouching back in his chair, but Jihoon is barely paying attention, too busy rubber necking it to find Jun an alternative dancer for the night.

He spots somebody suitable almost immediately, a slim brunette - who Jihoon vaguely remembers being introduced to, though he's embarrassed to realise he doesn't remember his name-conversing with a group of business men a few tables away.

“Hey!” Jihoon whistles, grabbing the guys attention. “Yeah—you.”

The dancer walks over, looking a little irate at being whistled at but remains professional. “Hi—I’m The8. Are you guys having a good time?”

“Great time. Listen—my friend here wants a private session from you.” Jihoon says without missing a beat, although he feels Jun hesitate beside him.

The8 quirks an interested brow. “Really? Then why does he not ask me himself?”

“Cause he’s shy.” Jihoon says, with unnecessarily demeaning tilt of his head.

“Poor guy. First time at the club? I know just what you need. A full tour of the Prosecco room for the real Pledis club experience.” The8 purrs. and Jun raises an eyebrow, but doesn't try to quash the grin threatening to overtake his face.

“Follow me please.” The8 smiles, moving away and gesturing for Jun to follow with the flick of his finger.

“Happy enough?” Jihoon asks Jun, and judging by the fact the Jun scrambles out of his chair to follow the dancer, the answer is very much 'yes.'

But after Jun leaves, Jihoon decides he doesn’t want to sit around in a crowded club drinking overpriced vodka.

He tucks a handful of twenties in his empty glass and looks for the staircase through the crowds, too impatient to wait for Seungcheol to return to their table. It takes a bit of manoeuvring to get past the crowd gathered around the bar, but he finds the staircase and ascends, paying for a full $300 dollar session without a hint of regret.

 

* * *

 

When Jihoon arrives at the Prosecco room, he knocks quietly at the door and enters.

Seungcheol’s still setting up and looks momentarily caught off-guard, though the expression is quickly swept away. “Hello.”

“Uhm—Hi.” Jihoon says awkwardly, shutting the door behind him.

They stand there awkwardly for just long enough for it to get uncomfortable.

Seungcheol bounces on his toes, and chews at the wet length of his lower lip. “You’re not-who I was expecting.”

 “Yeah, Jun’s occupied. I’m taking his place, if it’s all the same to you.” Jihoon manages. He's impressed by how calm he makes that sound.

 “Oh really? Are you sure that’s what you want?” Seungcheol says with a quirk of eyebrow, and a curious tip of his head. There’s something tenuous in his tone, but not really fragile. It vibrates, makes Jihoon think he’s going to miss something crucial if he doesn’t pay close attention right the hell now.

“Yes, I am sure.” Jihoon tries, with a completely straight face.

“Cause you didn’t seem so sure downstairs earlier. Earlier you practically ignored me.” Seungcheol says, his voice is sharp and frustrated and it aches so beautifully.

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” Jihoon says, waving his hands and trying to apologise in his own special way. Without actually saying sorry.

“Sure you were. I felt ignored.”

“No—I just.” Jihoon breaks off, gut churning in shame “I knew you were there, and that you were talking to me. I was just trying not to pay attention to you.” he offers, because as stupid as that sounds, that's got to count for something.

Seungcheol simply stares at him as if he thinks Jihoon's being confusing on purpose, and he can't work out _why_. “There’s a word for that, Jihoon. _Ignoring._ You were ignoring me.”

There's a brief period of fidgeting and a frustrated sort of exhale, “Okay. I’m sorry. I wasn’t doing it deliberately.”

Seungcheol’s expression twists into something unimpressed, “That’s exactly how you ignore someone Jihoon. You don’t pay attention to them— _deliberately_. How about, instead of trying to justify your rudeness earlier—you apologise and tell me why you were ignoring me.”

Jihoon does his best not to look guilty or worse, stupidly besotted, but it's a lost cause. Seungcheol just crosses his arms and waits for an explanation. He juggles words in his head before finally deciding to just dive in. “Listen I—kind of made a bet with a friend of mine that I wouldn’t have another private session with you.” He admits.

He watches hurt, irritation and then confusion drift across Seungcheol’s face almost too fast to catch. “Why would you make a bet like that?”

“Somebody pointed out that I may have an unhealthy obsession with these private sessions. I may have let that idea get to me a little, because it’s true.” Jihoon says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I was adamant that it was not true and had to prove them wrong. Then they wagered that I couldn’t spend an evening here and not ask for a private dance, so a went along with it.”

“Hmm,” Seungcheol rumbles lengthily in his throat, like he’s is finding Jihoon’s fluster amusing but his stare is incisive, full of coiled motion. “I thought you liked our private sessions?”

“I do! I really do!” Jihoon insists adamantly.

Seungcheol frowns in a careful contemplative way. “Then—why would you bet against them? If you enjoy them, what does it matter what your friend says?”

“Because I’m highly competitive and hate losing-“ Jihoon says, then clears his useless throat and tries again. “Because I’m an idiot.”

Seungcheol snorts in a way that suggests he agrees with at least one of those assessments. “But you’ve changed your mind now and folded on the bet?”

“Yes.”

“And even though you were kinda rude earlier, you want me to give you a private dance?” Seungcheol says firmly, but he sounds more amused than annoyed.

“Yes." Jihoon says firmly. He's a tad more hesitant however when he asks, "May I have a private session?”

“Hmm.” Seungcheol blinks, as if he's actually taking the time to think about it. “Nope.” He says.

Jihoon’s shoulders sag and he pouts. It’s very pathetic. Honestly, no self control whatsoever.

Seungcheol laughs, amused static clamouring in Jihoon’s ear. It isn’t cruel, but it hurts to hear—an indulgent thing, something a parent would give a child.

Accepting defeat and extended blue balls for the foreseeable future, Jihoon turns to leave, but Seungcheol’s hand stops him.

Seungcheol steps closer, just one step, and also all the space that’s left, and then he loops a finger round the neck of Jihoon’s tie and pulls him impossibly closer still. “Are you going to ignore me again?”

Jihoon shakes his head.

He looks down at Jihoon, his eyes simultaneously light and serious. “Don’t bet on me again either. I’ll make you regret it.”

Jihoon nods with an appropriate amount of gratitude and seriousness.

“Good.” Seungcheol says, watching him with that little half smile, “Now, sit down.” He orders.

In his haste to comply, Jihoon nearly sits down on the floor where he is standing.

“On the couch Jihoonie!” Seungcheol laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners.

_Oh yeah, that makes sense._

"And stop pouting," Seungcheol tells him. “It’s distracting.”

Jihoon lets his mouth smooth out, though not because Seungcheol told him to. He'd been done pouting anyways.

* * *

 

When the first song starts, Seungcheol begins his routine a little differently with his back to Jihoon.

[Strip and Start of lap dance music.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HL1UzIK-flA)

Jihoon wonders briefly is he’s being punished by not having the strip teasing segment on the stage, but then Seungcheol gives him a smouldering look over his shoulder, crosses his arms, grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it up and off with one quick pull.

Jihoon has a heart-stoppingly detailed view of a broad back and light spilling over way too many muscles and sweet merciful Christ, those shoulders.

Seungcheol’s shoulders are wide and hard and made for having his mouth all over them and his nails digging into them. He wonders wildly if it will be too ridiculous to ask Seungcheol to do a few push-ups just to see everything flex, then decides against it. He’s lucky to get this dance at all.

Instead, he sits back and watches Seungcheol shed his clothing with practiced seduction until he’s standing in just his indecently small black boxer-briefs, almost between Jihoon’s feet.

Even if the beginning of their session had been a little tense, Seungcheol still pulls out all the stops; brushing his palms over Jihoon’s thighs and sinking down to the ground between Jihoon’s spread legs, before gliding himself up his body.

Seungcheol's hand spreads open on his skin, sliding across it with shades of intent that are both deliciously overt and curiously lazy, it's new and different and Jihoon doesn't want it to stop.

He thinks it's been a very long time since someone touched him like this.

Which is why this is _so_ difficult. To sit here, staring in the near dark , just breathing while someone touches you, touches you like they want you.

And do nothing.

Jihoon doesn't quite trust himself to touch back without messing it all up.

He starts tentatively at first, sliding his hands over as much of Seungcheol’s back as they can possibly reach, stroking from the nape of his neck, down the curve of his spine, over the planes of his shoulders.

There is a lot of skin to touch, all heat and hard-muscle, and in Jihoon’s very informed opinion it’s practically a crime that Seungcheol’s shirts hide all of this.

Jihoon’s breath turns shallow as Seungcheol crawls over him, a slip-slide, slip-slide of bare thighs as he settles on his lap. His hands moving easily to cradle Seungcheol’s hipbones and Seungcheol sends him a pointed look before placing his hands on Jihoon’s shoulders.

A new song starts, some indie trash Jihoon has heard on the radio once or twice.

[Lap dance. Second Song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUBVVbcCDdM)

It’s heavily remixed and dictates Seungcheol’s movements as he gyrates in Jihoon’s lap, grinding down and then thrusting against his chest in turns.

Jihoon’s feeling a little bolder now, and a hand boldly slides up Seungcheol’s flat stomach, the contours of his chest. Seungcheol shivers as Jihoon traces lightly along his ribs, thumb skimming to a dusky pink nipple and flicking the piercing there almost of its own accord.

The glint of mental is too tempting.

Jihoon’s never been very good with temptation. It's gotten him into trouble over and over, and yet he can never quite resist the opportunity to put his fingers on things he probably has no business playing with.

He’ll admit to having an unhealthy fascination with Seungcheol’s nipples. Seungcheol’s nipples seem to echo the sentiment, stiffening into pert pink buds almost immediately on contact. He draws one of his nails across the tender flesh, watching as Seungcheol’s lashes flit against his cheeks and his rhythm falters briefly.

He has no idea what possesses him to do what he does next—but Jihoon finds himself darting forward and curiously flitting his tongue against the tip of one nipple. It’s a brief touch, but the slow, wet sound when he draws back is beautifully lewd.

Seungcheol’s head tips back and he makes a noise in the back of his throat like he’s dying, which only prompts Jihoon to redouble his efforts. He leans in again and suctions his lips over the bud, swirling the tip of his tongue against it, around it and flicking the pointed tip of his tongue against the piercing.

Jihoon's aware, in the most obvious of senses, that this might be considered a little...he can't think of a good word. He can't think of a word to use which isn't going to make everything awkward in his head. And yeah this probably falls under inappropriate touching, no strike that, this definitely falls under inappropriate touching.

But Seungcheol is still letting him. Seungcheol is arching against him and releasing a quiet sigh.

Jihoon eases back, licks his lips and for a long moment he just watches Seungcheol who has not once taken his eyes off of him, though they are darker now, complicated in ways that have always fed his more creative impulses. Seungcheol’s cock is tenting the fabric of his shorts and once again Jihoon is thrilled that he's the one who made it so.

“You’re getting a lot better at this polite thing—as in—you’re not doing it anymore.” Seungcheol murmurs.

Jihoon winces and ducks his head. “Fuck—I’m sorry—I didn’t know what I was thinking.” He says, voice low with embarrassment.

But Seungcheol doesn't look like he's angry, though. Seungcheol is looking—actually—a little glassy-eyed. “Don’t be. Do it again.”

_Well—fuck._

“Oh, fuck,” Jihoon breathes, hands tightening around Seungcheol’s hips and tugging him closer. There is no pause or hesitation this time.

He laps a straight, hot path up the centre of Seungcheol’s chest, relishing the shifting shapes of muscle whenever his mouth makes contact with skin, the way both nipples stand erect and pale pink and ripe for whatever Jihoon sees fit to do with them.

Seungcheol’s body bows with each touch of tongue, bending into him like all sorts of permission he probably shouldn't give.

“Ah—fuck. Hmm—yes.” Seungcheol’s breath shakes out of him, hands tight on Jihoon’s shoulders.

Jihoon scratches a nail over one nipple while taking the second between his teeth and sucking, biting gently—then less gently when Seungcheol swears and strokes his back and stutters something that sounds like a plea.

“Fuck, Jihoon…d-do that again,” Seungcheol falters over his words in a way Jihoon has never heard him do before.

Jihoon obliges him, draws it out as long as he can let himself, pinching each nipple between his fingers and teasing them into sharp points, taking them into his mouth in turn until they are wet and rosy.

He nips on the edge of one piercing, pulls on it gently until Seungcheol rewards him with breathy little keens from the back of his throat, before releasing it. He does it again, and again, watching through his lashes as Seungcheol’s head lolls back, chest pushed out—hypersensitive to every teasing caress.

“Yes—hhmm—Jihoon.” Seungcheol says, words raspy and breathless through the bent arch of his throat.

Jihoon can’t imagine functioning on a day to day basis with this kind of sensitivity and fucking hell, if this is Seungcheol’s reaction to having his nipples sucked, Jihoon can’t even begin to fathom how he might respond to having other parts of him sucked.

Seungcheol’s hand shifts to the back of his head as he teases him, fingers threading through Jihoon’s hair and guiding his head into a rhythm like Jihoon is going down on him instead of just suckling at one of his nipples.

That thought is more than enough to have Jihoon fumbling a hand around Seungcheol’s back for a studier grip. Somehow he has enough coordination to continue his teasing whilst grinding them together, rubbing his dick against Seungcheol’s.

Seungcheol moans, spreads his legs so that Jihoon can slot himself in closer. He rolls his hips, increasing the pressure and friction on their dicks until Seungcheol’s moans break apart into whimpers, the sound rich and wanton and the most beautiful thing Jihoon has ever heard. It goes to his head, driving him a little crazy with the frantic need to elicit more noises out of this man.

He sinks in his teeth a little more firmly in the sensitized nipple, sucking hard, and then Seungcheol is bucking against him with broken little hitches in his breath and “Jihoon, Jihoon—I’m gonna—ahh—please.” on his lips.

There is a resounding knock on the door, abruptly ending their session once more, because of course, time flies when you’re having fun.

When Jihoon pulls back Seungcheol makes a quick, breathless noise of loss.

They do nothing but stare at each other for a second.

“You know—these sessions are meant to be about you enjoying yourself. Not me getting enjoyment.” Seungcheol says eventually and he sounds rattled. Jihoon very rarely hears him sound like that.

Jihoon can't do anything but breathe and try and drag something in the way of words up past the tightness in his throat.

“I was enjoying myself.” he says carefully. He lets that sink in, and then less carefully says, “And when I come back next time—we’re gonna pick up where we left off.”

Seungcheol swallows visibly. "Okay." He says stiffly. There's a shakiness somewhere underneath, a fragility that's a bright and unexpected shard in Jihoon's mental picture of Seungcheol.

But he ducks his head and smiles and Jihoon thinks he approves.

No, he _knows_ he approves.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon descends the staircase with an extra flaunt to his jaunt; hands in his pockets, shirt rumpled, tie askew and memories of Seungcheol’s decadent moans still ringing in his ears.

Jun falls into step beside him as he approaches the bar. “Just got off the phone to Soonyoung. Told him about your little lapse on the bet. He told me to tell you, his appointment with the dentist is on Saturday  at 11am.”

Jihoon grin is all teeth as he shrugs. “Worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) That outfit though......  
> 2) More proof that Seungcheol is born to do this.....  
> [Seungcheol stripper thread](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/869722437709168642/photo/1)  
> 3) 96 line friendship is my fave.  
> 4)I hope you enjoy reading. Feedback always appreciated :)


	5. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lololol.

It’s a Tuesday evening, and Jihoon has been staring at his laptop and pouring over his cases in a precedent hunt for the last 6 hours.

He pauses to allow himself the luxury of staring out the window, because if he doesn't stop looking at this deposition his eyeballs are going to catch on fire. 

The knife behind his eyes gradually stops digging in and twisting. It settles into something steadier, quieter. Even the hum of the artificial lights stops making him want to cut his own ears off.

The short break is enough to refresh him, which is probably why he doesn’t fling himself out the window when the dulcet tones of Kwon Soonyoung, singing about working nine to five, filter down the corridor.

Sure enough, he’s interrupted by a knock on the door and swivels in his chair to find Soonyoung strolling his way into the office. "You left your door open, I'm inclined to take that as an invitation."

Jihoon pitches the fakest smile he has. "Soonyoung, I wish you'd told me you were coming, I could have made sure I was out of the office."

Were it not for the mug of hot coffee in Soonyoung’s hand, Jihoon would have lashed out violently. As it is, he settles for accepting the cup and squinting at Soonyoung’s tie in accusation.

Soonyoung’s wearing a striped tie with so many fucking colours in it that Jihoon's already overtaxed eyes hurt, taking it all in. It is appalling.

Nevertheless he says. “Nice tie.” Cause he’s a good friend.

Seemingly pleased with the complement, Soonyoung strikes a pose in front of Jihoon’s desk, chest puffed as he smooths down his tie. “Thanks. My mum bought it for me for my birthday.”

Jihoon glares at it balefully. “Your mother hates you.” he says, because he’s actually more of an _honest_ friend.

Pouting, Soonyoung intrudes even further into his office space. He sits on the edge of Jihoon’s desk, picks up a stapler—then quickly sets it back down when Jihoon eyeballs him. He drums on the wood, re-arranges some papers, fingers the automatic pencil sharpener, yelps when it cuts the tip of his finger.

Idiot.

He prods and pokes, and generally does his best to be irritating.

Jihoon resolves to ignore him and pretend he doesn't exist, until such time as he’s gone, or he manages to be less annoying in some astonishingly unlikely way.

But then Soonyoung picks up Jihoon’s fucking pen, puts it in his mouth and begins to chew on the end of it like a dog gnawing on a bone. Jihoon opens his mouth to protest, or to at least find some sort of withering comment appropriate to the situation, or to just make angry noises when Soonyoung says:

“Whatcha doin?”

“Trying to work, but you seem to insistent on hampering my progress. Now if you’d be so kind as to fuck off, I’m very busy.” Jihoon snaps.

“You know—one of these days I’m going to take that seriously and leave, and you’ll have _no friends.”_ Soonyoung points out, putting a melodramatic hand to his forehead.

Jihoon just tries to look stern and shakes his head. “Leave, I’ll have Wonwoo and Jun.”

Soonyoung scoffs, “Pfff— _Junhui?_ Jun can’t replace _me_. Jun is a good middle-range friend you can invite out to drinks—but he’ll never buy a round or tolerate your crap. He hardly classifies as best friend material. And Wonwoo hardly classifies as a warm-blooded mammal most days.”

He’s gotta point there.

“I’ll just befriend the paralegals and that guy who brings the free donuts for everyone on Thursdays.” Jihoon dismisses with a shrug.

“ _Sehun_. His name is Sehun, Jihoon. His office is right next door to yours.” Soonyoung says.

Jihoon quirks an amused brow. “Really? I should send him a letter, thanking him for the donuts.”

“ ** _Or_** —you could just— _go_ next door and say hi. Leave your office and integrate with your co-workers.”

“That sounds barbaric.” Jihoon concludes in his driest voice.

Soonyoung shakes his head at him in a horribly disappointed sort of way that Jihoon can’t be bothered to respond to.

So he goes back to his deposition and ignores Soonyoung. Or _tries_ to.

But Soonyoung watches him with the air of a man who's never witnessed simple daily tasks done before. Which makes Jihoon feel oddly self-conscious, not that he doesn't feel that a lot, it's just usually less annoying.

Then Soonyoung is prodding him again, foot pushing against his leg, in a way that won't be ignored.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” He asks, and he’s got Jihoon’s stapler in his hand again.

Which is an annoying sort of magic trick that doesn't involve actual magic so much as Jihoon not paying attention and Soonyoung taking advantage of it.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Dare I ask?”

“I’m talking about Stripper boy.”

“He has a name, Soon. It’s—“ _Seungcheol_ , he thinks. But he has no right to use that name. “S.Coups.”

Soonyoung tuts quietly, lazy and amused. “What happened to your big recovery plan to get over him?”

“I’ve scrapped that recovery plan—and implemented a new one.”

 _“Which is?”_ Soonyoung drawls.

“ **Not** getting over him.”

Soonyoung barks out a single, sharp, “Ha!” and almost drops the stapler, catching it in mid-air. “How’s that going to work?”

"It’s a little too complicated to explain, you wouldn’t understand." Jihoon tells him. "But there is scientific proof backing me up this time. Contains lots of 'ics' and 'ologies,' and even a few 'ism's.'"

Soonyoung sighs, long and faintly exasperated “So, you’re just going to keep going back. Keep visiting him and blowing your money on private dances?”

“That’s the plan.” Jihoon says with an incredibly sarcastic thumbs up.

Soonyoung makes a face down his own nose at him. Jihoon remains obstinate in his opinions.

“Jihoon, where do you see this going? Because let me tell you—I don’t see this going anywhere good.” Soonyoung says. His voice is kind but firm, and the way he's looking at Jihoon is actually a little more than Jihoon can take right now. 

“What do you want me to say Soonyoung? That I like him? Because I do—I like him. Alright? There I said it.” Jihoon says, in the well-worn tone of someone who has had the same argument many times already. 

“I really like him. And as pathetic as it might sound, I think he likes me too.” He tells Soonyoung as he wrestles the stapler out of his hand.

Soonyoung sighs. “Of course he likes you, you spend a fortune there every week. He’s making a killing out of--”

“It’s not like that.” Jihoon interjects sharply. “He’s different around me. I know he is.” he corrects, and finds his voice thinner and threadier than he would like.

“How do you know? Have you got a window into the private sessions he gives other guys? How can you know anything about him for sure?”

Soonyoung’s tone is more serious, more direct than Jihoon expects, though he shouldn't be so surprised. For all his frustrating ability to irritate him there's always a precision to Soonyoung. The ability to hone into a flaw and exploit it. Something Jihoon can't help but grudgingly respect.

Jihoon wants to be outraged at the insinuation that he’s being used. But considering how this whole thing started with Seungcheol, any argument he can think of isn't going to get him very far. He's running out of excuses other than the obvious and he fucking hates it. Hates how it doesn't make him want to stop going back.

In that moment, there’s little he can do but shrug, “I guess I don’t. Just going with my gut.”

* * *

 

Despite his promise to pick things up where they left off: things go—a little _differently_ the next time he’s with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s a stretch of heat against him, leg thrown over his thigh, pressing his skin into the warm leather of the couch. He’d started the session fully dressed straddling Jihoon’s lap, and is undressing slowly to the music in the background.

Only, he seems a little distracted and if Jihoon’s not mistaken—there is a faint bruise under his right eye.

“Are you okay?” Jihoon finds himself asking when he watches Seungcheol rebutton his shirt, like he’s forgotten that he’s meant to be undressing.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine.” Seungcheol says quickly, catching himself on and fumbling to undress now.

_Definitely distracted._

Jihoon drifts his fingertips on Seungcheol’s hip now, slow and indulgent. “What’s the matter?” he asks, and feels Seungcheol tense under his hand.

“Nothing. I just—what kind of lawyer are you?” He asks, curiously. It may be the first personal question he's ever asked.

“Corporate.”

Seungcheol bites his lower lip and offers Jihoon a confused kind of smile. “So, is that when you—represent multi mullion dollar corporations?”

“Not always. Sometimes I represent the shareholders. I represent small business and start-up ventures too. I advise them on their legal rights and obligations. I sometimes get employed by other firms as an in-house corporate counsel to deal with issues. That doesn’t include the pro-bono work I do—But I’ve been on the fast track for some time now, so I don’t get to do that as often anymore.” Jihoon manages to be smug even when he's frowning in concentration.

“So, you don’t represent people individually in court for crimes?” Seungcheol says. But something in his voice is intent, a subtle push, like there's something he needs to understand.

“No. That would be an attorney-at-law who practices criminal law. A lawyer is just a general term for a person who gives legal advice and conducts suits in court. Each lawyer will specialise in a certain area. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing, just curious.”

“ _Right_ ," Jihoon says doubtfully.

Seungcheol ducks his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I just remembered you saying you were a lawyer but not what kind of law you practiced or if you knew anything about other areas of law to advise somebody.” He says, and Jihoon feels ridiculously proud that Seungcheol has asked him for advice, for a reason he can’t accurately pinpoint.

“I have a reasonable knowledge about most areas, because I have friends who are specialised in other areas. Are—are you trouble?” Jihoon asks, though he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

“No! Not me.” Seungcheol hastens to say. “I just—“ He hesitates and shakes his head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t be asking you this during your session.”

Jihoon’s fingers dig into the curve where hip meets thigh, catch at the skin like a promise. He’s always been good at getting people to talk to him. For all that his impatience, he really knows how to nail the 'I'm non-threatening and you should tell me things' face. “You can tell me. I’m obligated by attorney—client privilege to keep anything you say confidential. Not that you’re my client—but—I _can_ keep a secret.”

Seungcheol frowns, Jihoon thinks the bland honesty has thrown him a little. Or maybe it's the suggestion.

Regardless, it works.

Seungcheol inhales, trying to pull in enough air to speak. “One of the guys who works here is having trouble with his ex. Their split up wasn’t exactly— _amicable_.” He explains tentatively.  “Now his ex is pestering him. Showing up at the club, following him back to his new place after he finishes his shifts here. _Threatening_ him. It’s gotten so bad he’s thinking about filing a restraining order.”

Jihoon’s brow pinches, and he wonders if Seungcheol’s ‘ _friend’_ is really Seungcheol himself.

It’s possible. _More_ than possible. A guy like Seungcheol is bound to have a boyfriend, several ex’s too. He tells himself it’s not jealousy that sears in his gut, but concern.

This is dangerous. In a court of law, it would be called: Aggravated Harassment in the first degree.

He places a reassuring hand on Seungcheol’s knee. “And _he_ should—that sounds awful.”

Seungcheol’s expression pinches. “Thing is, his ex, is a cop.”

“ _So_.” he says slowly and consideringly.

Seungcheol looks at him in a half-bewildered sort of way. “Wouldn’t he cause a lot of problems for my friend if he tried to file a restraining order?”

“The guy’s breaking the law and probably knows that he is. He’s probably relying on the fact that your friend is terrified to report him because he’s a cop. That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t report him, doesn’t mean that he can’t. If anything—even the threat of reporting him can damage his career. If internal affairs investigates him it could get him suspended so fast. Despite what you might see in movies about corrupt cops, the police authorities won’t tolerate abuse of power in their ranks.”

“That makes sense.” Seungcheol says absentmindedly, beginning to unbutton his shirt again.

Jihoon places a halting hand on his chest. “S.Coups, is it you?” He says, without even a moment's thought.

Seungcheol stops undressing and blinks. “What?”

Jihoon squints at him. “Is it _your_ ex that’s threatening _you_?”

“No! I was just asking for a friend.”  Seungcheol says. But it's too quick, too much of an instant denial for Jihoon’s comfort.

 _“A friend?”_ Jihoon repeats dubiously.

Seungcheol smiles and shifts until they’re pressed close. “Yes, my friend.” He says, voice a rumble of sound that feels like a caress where he's pressed into Jihoon's skin.

Jihoon pulls the squint off his face with difficulty, understanding that Seungcheol is going to keep playing vague unless pushed.

Well, so be it, then. Jihoon is good at pushing.

He lifts a hand, stretches, fingertips finding the warmth of Seungcheol’s chin, curving around his jaw. He can feel the tickling strands of his hair, the jumping flutter of his pulse beneath the skin.

“I ask because—usually people use terms like ‘my friend’ when they’re really talking about themselves. So, I’ll ask you again—is it you? Is that where you got that bruise?” He asks, thumb sweeping over the dark mark under Seungcheol’s eye.

“Did he hurt you? Because if somebody physically assaulted you, a restraining order is not going to cut it frankly. That’s a GBH and nothing to sit on.” Jihoon tells him, trying not to sound completely pissed off about it.

Seungcheol blinks at him. “It’s not me. I was with my friend, walking him back to his apartment after work when they guy showed up and threatened him. I got the bruise because I broke it up and he has a temper.” He stops talking, blinks and frowns, unsure - and then abruptly not, and something in his face goes soft and amused. “I swear it’s not me, Jihoon. And would it matter if it was?”

Jihoon could easily say something foolish at this point –something assertive and possessive. And truthfully, he wants to – but instead he forces out a rather glib, “I have a friend in the district attorney’s office. I can speak to him, get a restraining order filed.”

“That’s kind of you, Jihoon. You—you don’t have to do that. I just didn’t know much about it and I knew you were a lawyer. I’ll pass the info along to my friend. But— _thank you_.” Seungcheol says. Soft under his breath and cracked at the edges. There's an edge of guilty embarrassment there now.

All in a rush, Jihoon realizes that he is still cupping Seungcheol’s cheek, has been doing so for far too long.

“I’ll give you my business card.” he says, pulling back at once, “If you _do_ want me to do something, you can give it to your ‘ _friend’_.” Jihoon intones, still trying to recover from his  _mortifying_  display.

This time Seungcheol laughs in genuine amusement. “Oh my god, It’s not me Jihoon! It’s actually Seungkwan is you don’t believe me. The MC here.”

Jihoon exhales relief, and it's thick and sharp, before he's even thought about it. “Alright, alright. Just making sure.”

Seungcheol’s smile wanes and he pulls his hands into his lap, twists them together. “Sorry for ruining the mood.”

“You didn’t.” Relief makes his voice soft, almost affectionate. “I like talking about this kinda stuff. It’s my job, I enjoy it.”

Seungcheol lifts his head and quirks a brow. “More than a lap-dance from me?”

 _“Maybe.”_ Jihoon drawls. He coughs out a breathless laugh when Seungcheol pouts and pokes him in the stomach. “I’m kiddin. Of course a lap-dance is more preferable. It’s nice to get away from work stuff, take your mind off it sometimes, but I like my job. It’s one of the only things I’m good at.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m sure you’re great at lots of things!” Seungcheol says, sounding genuinely interested.

“I’m really not. Hmm—well,” Jihoon shrugs modestly, “I’m a decent cook. But that’s about it. I can’t bake for shit. One year for Christmas, my friend insisted we only gift each other home-made gifts and I gave everyone food poisoning with my cheesecake. It was either that or alcohol poisoning from all the drinks we had—but they insisted it was the cheesecake.”

“Yanno, I think I can picture you, standing in a kitchen, with like a hundred recipe books open on every surface and egg shells in your hair. You’d be wearing one of those ridiculously festive Christmas jumpers too—the ones that light up. I can imagine you’d set fire to it somehow, maybe putting the cake in the oven.” Seungcheol pauses at that, and then laughs at the mental image he has created.

Jihoon flounders for a moment. If he’d been at full mental capacity, he would have had some witty comeback for the lack of faith in his culinary skills—and fashion taste. But, Seungcheol’s laughter is distracting; with dimpled cheeks, creases around the eyes and a joyful face that makes him look so very young.

Instead Jihoon affects a suspicious look. “ _Were you there?_ That’s scarily accurate.”

Seungcheol grins like a loon and wipes a tear out of the corner of his eyes. “I also can imagine you’d be the type of guy to buy a pre-made cheesecake, and try and pass it off as your own when yours failed.” He adds with a particularly focused once-over.

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “Seriously. Were you there?” He says, barely holding back an indignant noise, and Seungcheol dissolves into a fit of giggles.

Freakin giggles!

[Seungcheol laughing comp](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1llOTfDZjg)

Jihoon grins wildly as he watches Seungcheol recover from his fit, taking several breaths to calm himself.

Seungcheol’s quiet for a second, the fingers of his right hand shifting on the knuckles of his left. “I can bake.” He says quietly, a little shy even.

Jihoon looks at the soft, shy flush on his cheeks – the downward tilt of his doe eyes and the slightly anxious weathering of his lower lip, and feels a deep, stupid rush of affection for him. “Yeah?” he says.

Seungcheol nods emphatically. “I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I’m really good at it too actually. I make a birthday cake for my housemate every year. This years cake was five layers of sponge, and marshmallow frosting and a GIANT SHARK coming out of the top of it.” He explains with a sweeping motion of his hand.

 _“A shark cake?”_ Jihoon says wryly.

Seungcheol shrugs his shoulders affably. “Yeah—cause he likes sharks.”

Jihoon smiles, “Pictures or it didn’t happen.”

Seungcheol gives him a surprised, delighted grin “I _do_ have pictures! On my phone.” He says, jumping up off the couch to fetch it.

Jihoon watches Seungcheol bounce over to the other end of the room with barely contained amusement. He scoots over on the couch to let Seungcheol sit comfortably next to him, his heart is pounding in his chest, but there's no reason to get sappy and ridiculous just because Seungcheol has suddenly turned into this bouncy, cuddly creature who wants to show him photographs on his phone of a cake he made. And he’s not at all jealous that Seungcheol is making custom shark cakes for someone else, because that would be _psychotic_.

Seungcheol unlocks his phone and opens the gallery; he swipes through a few photographs of what is indeed a shark cake with the words ‘Happy Birthday Jisoo’ piped along the blue fondant base.

He seems so happy and proud of his shark cake creation, getting a little too enthusiastic with his hand gestures as he explains how he modelled the fondant and searched everywhere for _just_ the right sized figurine to place in the sharks jaws.

And Jihoon...Jihoon isn’t even properly listening after a point – he is watching Seungcheol, not sure he has ever seen the man so brightly animated about...anything, frankly. Seungcheol puts a lot of energy into his performances and seduction on stage– but nothing like this, not the same free-flowing excitement. It’s hard to believe that this is the same Seungcheol who was moaning wantonly on his lap a few days ago.

His enthusiasm is—endearing. And it truly is a lovely shark cake.

Words Jihoon never expected to associate with a cake—or sharks for that matter.

The moment is all the more lovelier for the glimpses of Seungcheol he catches in the pictures. In several shots he’s posing proudly with his shark cake, dressed down in an oversized pink t-shirt and— _glasses_.

Huge dorky glasses. Seriously the guy can pull off any look.

Jihoon suspects they’re for aesthetic purposes; the kind of non-prescription lenses trendy people wear to look cute in photographs. Jihoon normally has very strong opinions on people wearing spectacles UNNECESSARILY, but—damn if it isn’t the cutest thing he’s seen.  

Seungcheol taps on one image and zooms in to point out a specific detail on the cake, but it’s the image of Seungcheol that keeps drawing Jihoon’s eyes like a magnet.

He almost reaches for the phone to take a closer look, but keeps his hand relaxed and focuses all his attention on the picture; on that beautiful face, full lips and lush hair—falling soft and loose over his brow.

Jihoon adores Seungcheol’s usual, sexy smouldering persona on stage, but he’s captivated by the Seungcheol in the photograph too… softer, younger, with the slightest hint of vulnerability. And despite that new side he’s witnessing unravel before him, Jihoon still wants to do things to Seungcheol.

Gloriously obscene things.

It's been an impossible stretch of time since he felt this. This low, strange clench and catch of desire.

And what Jihoon wants to say is, _‘Can I have a copy of this picture, so that I can jerk off to it.’_ But what he does say is, “That’s a pretty impressive shark cake. It’s cute that you proudly captured the moment too.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flit away from the phone screen and his pinched expression of artistic concentration instantly morphs into delight. “Of course. Didn’t you have pictures of your crappy cheesecake?”

“No. But I have pictures of us all connected to IV drips in hospital.” Jihoon tells him loftily.

They both laugh until everything eases off into a semi-comfortable silence. Jihoon fidgets a little on the couch, puts his hand through his hair for the hundredth time. He has the desperate urge to touch Seungcheol, and nothing to exercise it on.

Seungcheol seems to catch on, rather quickly. He swipes his phone shut and sets it down on a small table next to the couch. “Sorry if I got a little side-tracked with my photos.” He says softy.

“No, I liked it.” Jihoon hurriedly assures. “Now I have proof that you make awesome shark cakes. I know who to commission when my next baking disaster happens.”

Seungcheol turns instantly red, all the way up his neck and into his ears, “I _could_ set up a business one day.” He laughs.

Jihoon swipes his hand in the air, imagining the shop sign slogan. “S.Coups and Son. Filling your jaws with Shark cake since 2017.” He says seriously.

Though Seungcheol has no trouble at all detecting the marshmallow-soft layers of sarcasm in that sentence and shoves at him playfully. “Fuck off—I can make other cakes besides shark cakes!” He says, trying to scowl and doing a frankly shitty job of it.

“I’m just teasing,” Jihoon laughs and then, oh god, then he reaches out and  _ruffles Seungcheol's hair_. And Seungcheol should really, really kill him for that, punch him in the face or something. But he actually blushes and giggles again.

Oh sweet fuck— _the giggles._

Jihoon’s fists want to curl into claws, the noise does such soft things to his insides. He has to look away for a brief second, lest he catch the infectious giggling himself.

“You should consider it though.” he suggests, making a vague, wavy hand motion. “You’re obviously very good at it. Shark cakes by day, stripping by night.” Jihoon sounds it out, purses his lips and nods. “You’d certainly corner the market.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do both. Working here is exhausting and baking swallows up your time!” Seungcheol says. He hesitates an instant, licks his lips, and Jihoon gets a slight head rush. “And anyway, I’m the kinda guy who commits to something if I start it.” He says meaningfully.

Jihoon makes a noise he's not proud of: a tiny, involuntary grunt of excitement. _“Well—then—I’m_ gonna have to insist you commit to the stripping, cause I’d have nothing to do on my evenings off if you leave.”

Seungcheol beams at him, full and happy. “There are other dancers you could have your private sessions with, you know.”

“Ew, no!” He doesn't know why he says  _that_.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows are at his hairline now, and he looks like he's trying to decide if he's charmed or deeply, deeply amused. “Sorry—I just can’t imagine enjoying this with anyone else.” Jihoon recovers awkwardly.

“Well, I appreciate that I’m your go-to guy.” Seungcheol says cheerily, and it's clear that he's decided on charmed. “But If you ever get bored of me. Mingyu’s good. He’s the clubs most popular attraction actually.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “That’s because you can’t miss him. You can see him from across the city.” he jokes and Seungcheol’s answering grin is so dazzling at such close proximity, like staring into the sun.

“Besides, I can’t imagine ever getting bored of you.” He adds, and he can't quite look at Seungcheol when he says it.

When he takes a chance and glances up, Seungcheol’s eyes are on him, sharp and almost wondering. They stare at each other silently for a few shaky breaths, the urge to lean in and kiss Seungcheol rising with each inhalation.

Seungcheol’s eyes lock themselves somewhere in the vicinity of Jihoon’s lips; he thinks that if he were to kiss Seungcheol now, he might go permanently cross-eyed. 

Something – anticipation, probably – trickles down Jihoon's spine like a hot bead of sweat, but he's saved by having to say anything more when somebody knocks on the door, signally once again, the end of their session.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe the time is up—I didn’t even get to take off all my clothes!” Seungcheol says, sounding a little bit mystified, and Jihoon finds himself laughing, stunned. “Wait here, I’ll go speak to Jeonghan—get you another session on the house.” He scrambles to button up his shirt.

“No, it’s fine.” Jihoon says, waving a hand when Seungcheol opens his mouth to protest. “It’s fine. I have a client dinner to go to anyway.” He stands, stretching his back with an audible  _pop_ and smooths the wrinkles out of his suit.

When he turns back to the couch, Seungcheol is sitting there watching him quietly, brow creased into a truly endearing frown.

He's frowning in a way that Jihoon thinks he's become good at deciphering. It's the look people wear when they think they've worked you out. When they think they know who you are - and suddenly you're a mystery again.

Without thinking, Jihoon reaches out and smooths the furrow with the tip of a finger. It ceases to be under his gentle caress, and he drops his hand to tilt Seungcheol’s chin up.

“I enjoyed this.”

“Yeah?” Seungcheol’s voice sounds raw, surprised, a little awed.

Jihoon nods. “I’ll see you in a few days.” He assures, petting his thumb over Seungcheol’s bottom lip.

That beautiful mouth quirks up at the corner. “Okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I'm sorry if you were expecting smut this chapter. :(  
> 2) Okay, but listen--Seungcheol is soft too. Like, an enigma. In an instant he switches from sex incarnate to soft cinnamon roll and I kinda wanted to show that side.  
> 3)HIS FUCKING GIGGLING!! His giggling cures me. CURES ME!!  
> 4) It's gonna get smutty soon, thirsty friends.  
> 5) Hope you enjoy. Feedback always appreciated!


	6. Auction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really hate writing summaries.

Jihoon uses any and all excuses to go to the strip club.

His vices are well known around the office by now, thanks to Soonyoung’s _big mouth._ Although, it probably doesn’t help that Jihoon keeps inviting co-workers to drinks after work there either.

Some people are reluctant at first to indulge his bad habits. But Jihoon is very good at steering people using a combination of charm, enthusiasm and brute force.

_“I just settled my case out of court.” One friend boasts._

_“That’s excellent news. You know what we should do to celebrate?”_

**Strip club.**

_“My client just pleaded guilty to murder! That’s the fourth case I’ve lost in a row.” A fellow lawyer groans._

_Jihoon pats him on the back consolingly. “That sucks—but hey, I know what we can do to cheer you up!”_

**Strip club.**

_“I just broke up with my boyfriend, I’m feeling so low.” An old college friend whines._

_“Chin up. He didn’t deserve you man. There’s plenty more fish in the sea. Speaking of fish—I know where you can find some.”_

**_Strip club._ **

_“I’ve just become a father for the first time! A little baby girl!” Another says, proudly showing off shots of the new-born._

_“Congratulations! I know where you should hold the baby shower!”_

**Strip club.**

To be fair—that suggestion didn’t go down so well.

Jihoon was not invited to the christening.

He’s in the club now, after having just successfully concluded a major case for his firm. He’s out celebrating his winning streak with Jun and Wonwoo, when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. Surprised, Jihoon glances up to find Jeonghan standing there.

He’s giving Jihoon a long, speculative stare as if he's never seen him before in his life.

“Jihoon.” Jeonghan says with a nod.

Jihoon nods back. “Hannie.”

Jihoon isn't even surprised that that's what Jeonghan's opening with. Because he doesn't know how to say hello, or ask people how they are, or smile, or make small talk like a normal person.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Jihoon asks politely.

He’s waiting for something venomous, something unhappy. Instead Jeonghan purses his lips at him, in that way he does, like, not only does he know something Jihoon doesn't but that it's awesome, and Jihoon should be jealous.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you come here quite regularly.” Jeonghan says with a sour expression on his face.

Jihoon's eye twitches. That should rankle more than it does, but he nods, because there's no disputing it. “Yes, I do.”

“I also couldn’t help noticing that you bring a lot of your co-workers here.” Jeonghan adds, eyes narrowing to accusing slits.

Jihoon again, cannot deny this. “Uhh—yeah, I have recommended it to quite a few people. Is that not allowed?”

“Of course it’s allowed, we’ve been busier than ever. I appreciate the custom.” The tone is acquiescing if you ignored the petulance, sass, and blatant disregard that came with it.

Jihoon tips his head thoughtfully. “Then why do you look so angry about it?”

“I’m not angry. I’m happy.” Jeonghan scoffs, then goes for some sort of expression, though Jihoon doesn't have the faintest idea what he's trying for there. He thinks Jeonghan is _attempting_ a smile, but it’s just a fraction too wide and too sharp.

It's less 'scowling wrathfully,' than his usual face so, hey, they're getting somewhere.

“Was that supposed to be a smile?” Jihoon asks.

“Yes, it was.” Jeonghan says carefully, and he still hasn't dropped that smile for a second. Then his mouth tightens even further, until it looks like it hurts.

Jihoon isn't entirely sure he appreciates the close-up terrifying smile attempts, and says as much. “Please stop. You’re scaring all my friends away.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows draw down in a way that's more than familiar. He looks irritated now, which is how Jihoon knows him and it gives him a small measure of comfort to see it again.

There’s an extended silence where nobody seems to want to talk, but finally Jihoon sighs and gives in. “Did you just come over here to point out some facts and smile at us?”

“No.” Jeonghan snaps. He has the expression of someone who is about to ask a question he doesn’t actually want to hear the answer to. “I just came over to inform you that we’re holding a charity auction next Saturday night. You’re invited.”

“Am I? That’s kind of you. _Suspiciously_ kind, actually.” Jihoon answers primly, making his dubiousness clear.

Jeonghan grunts something that admits to nothing. “We’ll be raising money for charity by auctioning off extended private sessions with the dancers.”

Jihoon resists the urge to sit up straighter.

That sounds _very_ tempting indeed, but he does Jeonghan the discourtesy of taking a moment to pretend he's actually considering the offer. What he's really considering is whether or not he's really _that_ transparent.

“Charity Auction?” Wonwoo interrupts curiously. “Who are you raising money for?”

“Oh, well It’s actually a cause that’s very dear to my heart—“

Jeonghan falls into an enthusiastic explanation that Jihoon entirely fails to appreciate. Wonwoo steeples his fingers like he's actually paying attention. Or willing to fake it.

“That’s very noble of you,” Jihoon interrupts Jeonghan mid-sentence, “But I think the most important question is—how extended a session are we talking about?”

Jeonghan makes a noise in his throat that's amused and ever so slightly patronising at the same time. “An entire evening. Up until closing time in the Prosecco room for the winning bidders.”

Jihoon can’t control the way his eyebrows rise with interest; perhaps he is a greedy hedonist after all. Jun makes one of those little noises in his throat like he's thinking something obscene and Wonwoo’s already marking the date down in his diary and underlining it violently with a pen.

“An extended private session.” Jun repeats slowly. “That definitely makes me feel a lot more charitable than usual.”

“I’ll be there.” Wonwoo interrupts again, literally rubbing his hands together with glee.

“Of course you’ll be there, you’re here every week.” Jihoon points a finger at him, effectively making the sentence an accusation. He turns in his seat to face Jeonghan. He's still deciding whether to cave straight away or pretend that he has better self control than that. “I assume since your extending this invitation to me, you’re expecting me to bid too? Or are you asking me to bring people?”

Jeonghan offers him a shrug. “That’s entirely up to you. I just thought I’d let you know seeing as you’re a regular and all. You can come and bid on _somebody_. Invite your friends along, they can bid too.” He says, and he doesn’t even make it a question.

Jihoon was originally in two minds about bidding at the auction.

Spending an entire evening with Seungcheol in a private room sounds fucking amazing. But why bid for something he gets to enjoy every week anyway? Then that stupidly jealous part of his brain unhelpfully reminds him that if he doesn’t bid—somebody else will.

Now both minds are in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll be there too I guess.” He cedes, with an obviously forced nonchalance. “And I can bring people. How much will admission be?”

“There will be no admission fee.” Jeonghan says in his 'obviously' tone of voice.

“An open door event? For a bachelor auction? That’s stupid.” Jihoon says and Jeonghan levels an unimpressed look his way. “I’m just saying, if you don’t sell tickets, anyone off the street can come in and ogle the goods and not put down a single bid. If you limit the number of attendees it will classify it as a more exclusive event. You’re more likely to get people willing to part with their money that way.”

Jeonghan’s look of astonishment is something Jihoon plans to treasure for a long time. “Oh—well. Okay, that does make sense.” He says slowly, with only the barest of glances in Jihoon’s direction.

“So, you’ll issue tickets?” Jihoon says simply, and it hovers somewhere between statement and question.

Jeonghan rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “Yes, I’ll have to get back to you on the admission cost.”

“And there should be complimentary drinks.” Jihoon adds because he's started now.

Jeonghan sighs, as if he's being difficult on purpose. “Why would I do that?”

“Well if people are gonna blow a lot of money on an evening with one of your dancers, they’re gonna want some courtesy beverages. You’ll cover the overheads no problem once the auction starts.” He explains.

Jeonghan is looking at him like he's said something surprising, though whether it's a good surprising or a bad surprising Jihoon is absolutely in the dark about.

“Besides, the drunker they are, the more competitive people get. Good atmosphere to have at an auction.” Jun adds.

Jeonghan scratches his nose. He looks faintly pink. “Hmm. I didn’t think of it that way.” He answers, with a tone of dismayed realization.

“And the dancers should be dressed. _Fully_ dressed.” Jihoon offers, purely out of self-interest, he's half aware how ridiculous that sounds.

Jeonghan presses a hand to his temple like a headache is coming on. “You do realise this is a strip club, right?”

“I know, I know,—but if they’re wearing suits for instance, it adds an element of mystery to what’s underneath. Why buy the cow when you can have the milk for free—if you know what I mean.” Jihoon points out, which he thinks is a very sensible thing to remember.

The sound Jeonghan makes is derisive. “So you’re an event organiser now?”

Jihoon touches a finger to his lips, smiling. “Just—throwing out some suggestions.”

“And there should be a giant chocolate fountain.” Wonwoo adds, and it’s really not a helpful addition to the conversation but it's obviously all he has at the moment. “Giant chocolate fountains are classy.” He says wistfully.

Jeonghan scrubs his face with his hand and sighs like he doesn’t care. “Fine.”

“You know what else is classy? Those tiny canapés on silver trays.” Jun suggest. He pronounces _‘Canapés'_ the same way Soonyoung does, which is to say, incorrectly.

Jeonghan scowls at him in a way which suggests his opinion doesn't, or shouldn't count. “Oh really! And I suppose you want me to hire a string quartet to play entrance music for your arrival!” He bites back, his expression twisted with exasperation.

“Couldn’t hurt.” Jun says simply and Jeonghan rolls his eyes and probably wonders when exactly his life became an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen.

“And no clown strippers,” Jihoon declares, the thought just occurring to him. “If you’re going to have a theme—keep it simple.”

“Your suggestions have been noted.” Jeonghan snarks, like Jihoon is quite obviously wrong about clown strippers.

With a final, angry squint, Jeonghan backs away from the table, leaving the three men in stilted silence until Jun clears his throat and gestures vaguely at the departed Jeonghan.

“Why is he not up dancing? I’d pay good money to watch him dance.”

* * *

 

Jihoon’s working in the office early one afternoon when his phone vibrates.

_“Hi Jihoon :)_ _It’s S.Coup’s. :) I hope you don’t mind me contacting you on your number! I gave my friend your card and passed on your advice and I just wanted to let you know he appreciated it and is braver about doing something now. Thanks :)_ _”_

So many emojis.

Jihoon finds himself smiling at the message—and possibly breaking out into a fine sweat. Which is stupid.

It’s a simple, polite, professional message……from a stripper he’s infatuated with.

_FUCK._

He replies quickly before he can overthink it.

_**Jihoon:** ‘Glad to hear it. If your ‘friend’ needs anymore advice, let me know.’_

Seungcheol’s reply is instantaneous.

_**S.Coups:** ‘OMGSHJNDJAK! For the last time it’s not me!’ XD_

He debates about replying to that—but, there isn’t much to reply to. Yeah, Seungcheol contacted him outside of his work hours—but that doesn’t mean anything.

Seungcheol was just messaging him to pass on his gratitude; diverting the conversation to a more casual topic would be inappropriate.

He sets the phone down but it buzzes no more than a second later.

_**S.Coups:** ‘BTW, Hannie is really stressed about the auction planning. He says you’ve given him a lot to think about XD XD XD’_

Followed shortly by another message that Jihoon reads fighting down a ridiculous sort of smile.

_**S.Coups:** ‘I hope that means you’ll be coming? It wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t there.’_

It fills him with the oddly warm feeling he's come to associate with Seungcheol being unexpectedly soft. He’s pretty sure Seungcheol is trying to make conversation with him—maybe flirt a little in his own way.

It takes Jihoon exactly five joyful seconds to decide that his tentative conclusion has to be **wrong**. The idea that Seungcheol wants him back is slightly flattering, but highly unlikely.

_Seungcheol’s just being friendly._

_That’s all._

_Don’t read into it._

He debates about his answer, and finally decides on:

**Jihoon:** _‘Of course ;)_ _’_

He sets his phone down and slumps back into his chair with a sigh.

His private sessions with Seungcheol have taken on a particular theme: frustrating.

They’ve evolved from teasing caresses to full blown fondling sessions. He sucks Seungcheol’s nipples raw most nights, grabs his ass with both hands and squeezes until he’s sure it hurts. They grind against each other until they’re both breathless and panting but—it’s never enough time to do much more. Would Seungcheol even let him do more?

Just thinking about that makes him release a noise which is, perhaps, inappropriate for his office in the middle of the day.

There is that fine line that Jihoon doesn’t want to cross and irreparably damage what they’ve got. And to be honest, Jihoon's not entirely sure what him and Seungcheol _have_ got, but he's fairly sure it involves touching in some sort of important and non-platonic way.

He always has this urge to take things further, push the boundaries. He’s still not quite sure yet whether Seungcheol's dating anyone; it could be he’s always this flirty with the clients, or that he knows what it takes to keep Jihoon sweet, or perhaps he doesn’t date clients full stop.

But it's probably rude to come out and ask. Also, he's more than a little afraid that the answer will be all of the above.

Despite the frustration, he’s long since given up on trying to limit his requests for private sessions. Seungcheol is friendly and calm and beautiful and endearing, and even though Jihoon leaves most sessions with a raging boner, he can't help but enjoy Seungcheol’s company.

With each session, Seungcheol opens up a little, revealing more of himself to Jihoon with random stories and jokes. They’re strange conversations to be having in the VIP section of a strip club, but Jihoon is perked up and listening, committing every detail to memory.

While still far from approachable (fuckable), Seungcheol is at least  _real_  now in a way he hadn’t been before. A person instead of a sexual fantasy.

He’s still captivating and sexy and drop dead gorgeous as ever, but, there are days, Jihoon reflects, that he's pretty sure that Seungcheol is the anthropomorphic personification of a cinnamon roll.

Not words that would normally have ever come to mind about Seungcheol, but now that they’re in his head, he’s enchanted by the idea.

Every time Seungcheol blushes, dimples or gets that dopey grin on his face, Jihoon just wants to lick him up and down in the messiest of ways.

Probably not the most rational response, but then Jihoon has always been a bit bent.

And, strangely, he finds he likes this development in their interactions.  Seungcheol’s starting to make him feel funny in places other than just his pants.

* * *

 

When auction night finally comes around, Jihoon is certain he’s done his bit in assuring its success. He’s easily invited close to thirty people who are rich, guilty and lecherous enough to part with their money for a good cause.

He decides to be fashionably late, because that is a thing people do? And anyway, he doesn’t want to be the first person there (like Wonwoo who’s probably erected a tent outside the club 48 hours before) and just stand around being uncomfortable.

So when he arrives, the party is in full swing. The air is hazy with soothing music, muted lights, filtering pink and yellow - swooping across the stage floor.

Jeonghan had clearly gone all out. He’d actually taken some of their suggestions on board and the place could easily pass for a high-end restaurant now that there aren’t naked men on parade.

It’s understandably busier and you can’t order drinks for shit, the bartenders have their hands full. But, Jihoon feels instantly at home. The atmosphere here has always been the best in town and there isn’t a single clown stripper in sight.

There is no sign of Seungcheol, and Jihoon admits he is looking for him avidly.

He’s optimistic about his chances at the auction, if somewhat nervous. In truth, he’s moved so beyond nervous that he doesn’t have the vocabulary to express the panicked, pins and needles feeling just under his skin.

He’s planning on having a few drinks to calm himself down, and he thinks it’s a good idea get all of his drinking done at the very start of the party so that he’s sobered up by the time the bidding starts.

That appears to be Jun’s strategy too, considering how fucking wasted he is.

When Jihoon finally gets the bartenders attention, Jun yells his name with glee, then corners him by the bar and starts talking about the best way to cut sandwiches.

You know that confusing stage of being drunk where you can't stop talking until you've made sense? Jihoon thinks Jun’s officially reached that stage.

“No, but look, see, a square has four sides and a triangle has three.” Jun rambles, confirming the "drunk" theory beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Jihoon nods politely. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“But if you cut a sandwich into triangles you have access to _all_ the filings and they don’t fall out!” He whispers, like he’s sharing fucking trade secrets.

Jihoon tries to look impressed.

“BAM!” Jun tries to clap his hands together emphatically, but since he’s holding a champagne glass in one of them, he mostly succeeds in splashing himself with it. “Problem solved!”

Not, Jihoon thinks amusedly, his best-constructed rant ever.

“Jun,” Jihoon says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You are one of my closest friends.”

Jun makes a very serious face. He has the wide, glassy eyes of a drunk man trying and failing to look sober. “I’m one of your closest friends too! No, wait. You’re _my_ friend. _Closest_ friend. One of them. As well!”

Jihoon sighs through his nose. “But you are completely wasted and it’s really fucking annoying.”

Jun nods understandingly. “We should get sandwiches later. I’m going to go drink from the chocolate fountain again.”

* * *

 

When he takes his seat near the stage, Wonwoo is already there. Carefully settled in a chair like he'd had it pencilled in his diary down to the very second.

He’s glancing around, trying and failing to look disinterested, but he’s visibly thrumming with energy and leans close, so that Jihoon can hear him say, “I’m excited. Are you excited? Of course you’re excited. Why wouldn’t you be excited! It’s an _exciting_ day. What an exciting time to be alive.” He rambles, practically frothing at the mouth.

Jihoon thinks maybe they should have that conversation with the addiction counsellor after all. Maybe they should all sit down and have it together and then ration their stripper hours.

“Wonu—calm the fuck down.” Jihoon says with what he thinks is a calm tone of voice that Wonwoo needs to hear right now.

“Sorry, yeah—I’m just-“

“Excited,” Jihoon interjects, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yes, I got that message loud and clear.”

“How much are you planning on spending? Do you have a limit?” Wonwoo asks.

Jihoon turns far enough to look at him, mouth stretching slowly into a smile. “As much as it takes.”

* * *

 

Soon the auction is in full swing, bids being placed back and forth amongst animated and appreciative murmuring from the crowd.

They watch half a dozen dancers come and go from the block. They hum appreciatively at a few, Jun and Hoshi make a few bids and Wonwoo nearly has to be resuscitated when Mingyu takes the stage.

He’s looking too fucking tall as usual, in a dark fitted suit and a feathered mask. There seems to be a masquerade theme with the dancers taking the stage, and some elaborate suits on display but at least Jeonghan agreed with the ‘less flesh is more’ dress code.

“Starting the bid at $400.” Seungkwan calls out.

“$450!” Wonwoo bids almost immediately.

Seungkwan directs his attention to Wonwoo briefly, “$450 from the—oh,” He pauses to focus on another bidder who has just raised his paddle. “We have $500 from the fat man in the blue shirt.”

Wonwoo scowls wrathfully, he lifts his bidding paddle again. “$500.”

“$600!” A woman calls out, hiking up the bid. And that seems like that gets the ball rolling, because another guy starts bidding too, and another.

There’s eight of them now, raising the price quite considerably. One of them is Soonyoung who has absolutely no interest in winning, if only to see Wonwoo fluster every time he outbids him.

Jihoon has to give Wonwoo credit, he clearly wants to twist Soonyoung's head off and toss it across the room, but he's restraining himself. “Soonyoung! Stop outbidding me you dick.” He huffs.

Soonyoung looks comically offended. “It’s a free country! And I really want a private session from Mingyu.” Soonyoung waggles his brows, before raising the bid once more. It earns him one of Wonwoo's best glares.

There's a faint but audible laugh from Jun to his left that suggests he’s is finding this all very amusing. He’s somehow acquired a plate of canapes all to himself and is steadily working his way through them.

Jihoon restrains himself from reacting to any of this, because that way madness and frustration lies. He’s abandoned any pretence that they're normal people, with normal rules of human behaviour. Because trying to keep traction on this particular slippery slope is, he suspects, a losing battle

But no one has killed anyone yet. Jihoon's going to consider this progress.

The bid increases once more and now Wonwoo’s staring at everyone bidding against him with constipated look, before he lifts his paddle up. “$2000 dollars!”

A cheer erupts in the audience.

“Wonwoo, what the fuck! That’s not how you bid at an auction you idiot,” Jihoon hisses from behind him.

Wonwoo does a perfect impression of someone looking chastened. “I—I, got nervous.”

Jihoon drags an exasperated hand over his face. “Just, sit down. Think before you jump the bid again you maniac!”

Seungkwan claps enthusiastically. “Wow, we’ve got _quite_ the bidding war here for our handsome Mingyu. The bid is currently at $2000 dollars from the handsome man with glasses in the second row. Would anyone like to challenge that bid?” Seungkwan announces through the microphone.

“$2200 Dollars.” An elderly man in a pinstriped suit calls out, glaring at Wonwoo challengingly.

Wonwoo is caught off guard by somebody using his glare tactic against him. He fumbles for his wallet and checks it with an expression of deep unhappiness.

Meanwhile the bid hikes up again and another cheer erupts.

“2500 dollars!!” Wonwoo suddenly announces, standing on his chair like being taller is somehow going to intimidate people into not bidding.

“Jesus Christ Wonu, get down!” Soonyoung snaps, dragging him down by the cuff of his jacket. Wonwoo grumbles something and slumps lower in his chair.

Jihoon sighs loud enough for them both to hear.

Which does absolutely nothing.

“2700 dollars.” The rotund man in a blue shirt calls out, and Wonwoo groans in disappointment.

“2800!” A woman on the other end of the room raises her paddle. Her and Wonwoo are now eyeing each other from opposite chairs, like jungle cats trying to decide the best time to go for the throat.

Wonwoo jumps out of his chair, point at the MC and says, “One Bijillion dollars!” in a very determined tone of voice.

The crowd gasps, Jihoon groans, Mingyu is eyeing Wonwoo in a way that says he is wondering what he's gotten himself into, and Jun acquires a second plate of canapés.

Seungkwan sighs, sounding very much put-upon. “Sir—that’s not a real number.”

“Oh—yeah. I meant 3000 dollars.” Wonwoo says, eye twitching in a way which suggests he is liable to crush things if anyone tries to outbid him again.

“We’ve got $3000 dollars ladies and gentlemen in the second row here.”

The crowd seems reluctant to bid further.

“Going once. Going twice. **Sold** —to the handsome nerd in the second row. Enjoy your evening with our Mingyu.” Seungkwan says to raucous applause.

Wonwoo’s all but punching the air in excitement as Seungkwan starts calling out the next dancer.

“Get your wallets out ladies and gents. We still have lots of pretty young things to bid for and remember, it’s for charity. Next up, S.Coups.” Seungkwan announces.

Jihoon releases the breath he had been holding, barely containing his excitement as Seungcheol steps up to the stage and his jaw drops straight to the ground at the sight of him.

[Seungcheol suit options](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/871577192823746560/photo/1)

Jihoon looks him over in chapters—face to neck, chest to waist, hips to thighs—his eyes scraping up and down Seungcheol’s midnight suit.

He openly admires the way the slim cut of Seungcheol's dark suit folds elegantly along the broad lines of his frame, the rather heart-stopping way Seungcheol fills out his pair of trousers. He really might as well be naked because the exquisite cut of his bespoke tailoring more than hints at the muscled body underneath.

Like the rest of the dancers, he’s wearing a mask over his face. But his is mask is simpler; glitter and beading that sparkles in the light covering his heavy-lidded eyes; hair artfully mussed, like he’s just rolled out of bed.

Jihoon makes the mistake of meeting his gaze, dark and bright and intently focused. Seungcheol’s eyes fix on his and remain for three seconds longer than is comfortable, then move casually away.

“You ready big spender?” Soonyoung jibes, digging his elbow in Jihoon’s stomach.

Seungkwan calls for silence, “Shall we open bidding at—oh—sorry just a second.” He pauses, communicating with somebody in his earpiece. And then, “I’m afraid we won’t be bidding on S.Coups tonight because somebody has already forwarded the generous hold price for the evening with him.” He says and the crowd awes in disappointment.

“So, we’ll go on to our next dancer.” Seungkwan declares, unperturbed. Seungcheol however, doesn't move a muscle. He stands frozen, staring at Jihoon now. It’s dim in the room and Jihoon can’t quite read his eyes but they feel quick and sharp on Jihoon’s face.

Jihoon stares back at him for a disbelieving handful of seconds. His chest aches. His stomach is twisting into knots; his palms are sweating. It’s his bodies typical response around Seungcheol, but now there is jealousy intermixed. 

It’s not like he had a claim on Seungcheol, but he’s been outbid and clearly outwitted even before the auction started and that’s just not fair.

Jihoon is suddenly, abruptly,  _incandescently_  annoyed. He’s been sorta annoyed all evening, but this feels like his final straw. He tries in vain to keep what he’s feeling off his face, but as he watches Seungcheol ushered off backstage, he can’t help but clench his fists.

He turns to find his friends all watching him expectantly. He’s not sure what his face is doing, but judging by their amused expression, it must be doing  _something_ , and probably something Jihoon wouldn’t like.

“Coulda told us you were bidding off the record.” Soonyoung says slyly. An eyebrow canted upwards in a way that is amused and slightly juvenile.

“I _didn’t_.” Jihoon says sharply, probably too sharply and Soonyoung’s expression crumbles into sympathy and apology. Jihoon wants to strangle that expression off of his face.

When Jun pats him on the shoulder. Jihoon looks at the hand and the slightly sympathetic turn of Jun's mouth, and says, “Don’t say a word. I need a fucking drink.”

He stands from his chair and leaves the stage area, resigning himself for the fall, for the disappointment of reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Relax. It's not what it seems.  
> 2) I really can't decide on the suit Seungcheol is wearing. I mean, he looks great any suit. But I prefer him in dark colours.  
> 3) HIS SMILE IN THAT GIF IN THE THREAD!  
> 4) Hope you enjoy!


	7. Private Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LONNNGGG.  
> You can see why I split this chapter and the previous one.

 

The auction continues and Jihoon heads over to the bar, ordering a Grey Goose on the rocks. He throws it back in one swallow. The burn is smooth. He asks for another.

Turning back briefly to watch the bidding on stage, he catches something out of the corner of his eye: Seungcheol in the crowd, walking around like he’s looking for someone.

He stops briefly to speak to a patron, a pudgy man with a receding hairline, strangely out of place among the usual clientele.

Probably the guy who put the secret bid down. _Son of a bitch._

He doesn't even realize he’s staring daggers until Seungcheol's eyes focus on him, and his face is transformed by the most brilliant smile Jihoon has ever seen.

_I have to get out of here_ , Jihoon thinks.

He smiles at Seungcheol, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and pushes through the crowd, snatching a pack of cigarettes from the bar-top and lighting one up right there, right in the middle of the party. He doesn’t give a shit that he shouldn’t smoke inside, gives even less of a shit that he gave up smoking five years ago, and keeps on, down the stairs, out the door, taking hard drags that pull ash straight to the filter.

“Jihoon!” he hears distantly, but doesn’t stop.

He steps outside into the cool night air, pulls another cigarette out from the pack, lights it and leans back against the wall to take a comforting drag.

He thinks about hailing a cab, going home, jerking off in a fit of frustration. He really doesn’t want to head back inside.

The air around him is quiet, filled only with the thrum of night-time. He’s momentarily entranced by the smoke venting lazily into the air, playing with the pools of neon light from the sign overhead, that he doesn’t register somebody stepping up next to him.

"Hey," Seungcheol says softly.

Jihoon jumps, eyes popping open so fast his forehead twinges "Holy shit," he laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose and carefully not looking at Seungcheol, "don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry," Seungcheol says, even though he's clearly not, what with that shit eating grin on his face. “I tried calling after you, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Yeah—sorry, I just needed a breather.” Jihoon offers, feeling himself blush and trying uselessly to fight it. He wipes his face of emotion and stares coolly ahead, takes another harsh drag of his cigarette, shutting his eyes to avoid Seungcheol’s gaze.

Seungcheol is uncharacteristically silent. Terribly, entirely silent.

He really wishes Seungcheol would just leave and not taunt him like this.

Jihoon only knows he’s still there from the soft drag of his breath.  He takes another drag from his cigarette and when he opens his eyes, Seungcheol is gazing at him thoughtfully, sweet face pinching itself into a worried frown on his behalf. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly.

It’s enough to collapse Jihoon’s anger, giving way to the hollow, barbed ache he was trying to run from. “No—I’m fine.” He says, blowing a lungful of smoke out in a dismissive rush and smiling as winsomely as he can. “Better than fine. Totally fine. I’m fine.”

Sweet, awkward fuck. Is it _possible_ to fit more fine’s into that sentence?

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Seungcheol pouts, decidedly unimpressed with his renewed bad habits.

“Not for the last five years—but today’s a great day to start again.” Jihoon says, barely keeping all the strain out of his voice.

“Bad _Jihoonie_.” Seungcheol wraps his tongue around every consonant in the name, drags it out, makes it sound obscene.

Then he reaches up, cool as you please and plucks the cigarette out of Jihoon’s mouth, before stubbing it out against the wall, carefully killing every ember before he flicks it on the ground. “Smoking’s bad for you Cherry Tomato.”

Jihoon blinks at him. He feels very much on the edge of losing his cool. Not that it's not hilarious and oddly sweet—but  _really_. He was enjoying that cigarette.

Defiantly, he moves to take another out of the box, but Seungcheol cheekily pats it out of his grip and tosses the almost full pack on the street where a cab promptly runs over it. Jihoon has half a mind to run after it and salvage what he can but then Seungcheol’s tutting, mouth curling in an endearing moue like he’s read his thoughts.

Jihoon sighs, letting the air rattle out of his lungs. “I _know_ it’s bad for me, but it helps me relax. Stress relief or whatever. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I get stressed too.” Seungcheol starts, staring down at his cufflinks. He twists one of them between his fingers, clasping and unclasping the fine metal latch. “But, there are other ways to help relieve stress.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. Regular exercise releases endorphins—blah, blah, blah.” Jihoon dismisses with a wave of his hand.

“No, actually—“ Seungcheol says, stepping closer, levelling his hands at Jihoon's shoulders and giving a gentle squeeze. Their eyes meet, gazes caught on one another, and Jihoon feels his pulse quicken. “I was thinking more along the lines of an extended private session, which is _technically_ exercise when you think about it. So—when _would_ you like to start your evening with me?”

Jihoon frowns, absolutely certain that he'd heard that wrong. “Seung—“ He begins, then corrects himself. “S.Coups, I didn’t place the reserve bid on you.”

Seungcheol tilts his head and smiles like he knows a secret. “I know you didn’t. Jeonghan did.” He says slowly and clearly.

Jihoon narrows his eyes and fixes a sneer on his lips “Figures. That son of a bitch!” he seethes.

Seungcheol laughs outright; it’s a very rich, warming sound. “You misunderstand. It’s a gift for you. It’s his way of saying thank you for being such a great regular. So, I’m yours for the night.” He says quietly, and Jihoon loses all his breath in one go.

It takes him three tries to get it back.

“What? Is that like some kind of—stripper loyalty card discount thing? Buy five lap dances get the 6th for free?”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. “I guess. You do seem to bring a lot of your friends here. That’s good business for him.”

“Why didn’t he just—say thank you? Like normal people do. Why all the theatrics and the metaphorical punch in the gut?” Jihoon snips.

That bastard Jeonghan’s not even here for Jihoon to glare at him. So he settles for general glaring into space and hopes that comes across.

Seungcheol’s face is trying to be apologetic but it's not trying very hard, “Sorry, I didn’t know either till a few minutes ago. Jeonghan is not—how you say— _very good with the words._ More of a grand gesture kinda guy.” He says, voice a low curl of frustrated honesty.

Jihoon huffs a weak laugh. “I suppose that **_is_** a nice gesture.” He adds, in a grudgingly diplomatic tone of voice.

“Although he is laughing it up right now in his office. Cause you looked so pissed when you thought you’d missed out.” Seungcheol says, and he’s laughing, soft and bright. 

“That son of a bitch!” says Jihoon, exasperated and angry all over again. He's perfectly within his rights to be offended by that.

Seungcheol tils his head, lifts an eyebrow. “Are you complaining about getting a private session?” He chastises, though his voice is strangely soft.

Jihoon pointedly clears his throat. “Well, no—“ he demurs.

Seungcheol looks at him through his lashes, mouth twitching. “Good. Then, why don’t you excuse yourself from the party and come up to the room in ten minutes.”

_Why ten minutes? Why not now?_  Jihoon wants to say, but Seungcheol is smiling full and sincere and he can’t stay mad at the world when faced with those dimples.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“Seung—S.Coups?” Jihoon says, knocking on the door and nudging it open.

“Come in.” Seungcheol’s muffled voice calls out.

“Sorry I’m late—“ Jihoon says, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. The room is already dim with mood lighting and Seungcheol is somewhere in the bathroom, he can hear him shuffling about.

“I almost though you had a change of heart and weren’t going to show up.” Seungcheol’s voice echoes from the bathroom.

“No—no. I had to help Soonyoung wrestle Jun into a cab. I think he had a little too much to drink, he was trying to shower in the chocolate fountain. He’s lactose intolerant too, so he’s gonna have an eventful night.” He explains dryly and Seungcheol laughs.

He folds and unfolds his arms impatiently, taps his boot on the thick carpet, casts his eyes around the room in anticipation. He’s nervous, understandably. This extended session means _a lot_ of private time with Seungcheol and his previous sessions have always left a deep craving for more and he doesn’t know what to realistically expect.

He focuses everything he has on waiting passively with his hands stuffed as far into his pockets as they'll go.

“The auction is almost over.” He begins to say, mostly to distract himself. “Looks like a good turnout cause there is an actual queue to get in the VIP area, and somebody’s already had a little too much fun cause I hear paramedics were called for one of the VIP’s. So, pretty successful night I’d say. You guys have raised quite a bit for—actually, come to think of it—I have no idea what charity you _were_ raising money for in the first pl--.”

_“Jihoon.”_ Seungcheol hums behind him, the sound soft and content, like a sated purr.

Jihoon turns to face him and—and--

“Woah.” Jihoon says. It comes out half slurred and half surprised.

Seungcheol’s got one hand braced against the door, the other on the jut of his hip, legs crossed at the ankles. He’s still wearing his mask; the grin on his face is canted and divining, and a lot like a wolf’s. It’s a sexy punch in the gut. And if that wasn’t seductive enough…..

He’s completely naked.

And, oh my God. That's...that's a lot of Seungcheol to look at.

The way he's leaning against the door, with a carelessness born of impatience and arousal, makes nudity look effortless. He's so fucking beautiful. But Jihoon thinks it's a century or so too early to say that out loud.

He forces himself to stop looking at anything he shouldn't. Which is much harder than it sounds, because there's  _so much_  he thinks he probably shouldn't be looking at.

This is the sort of up close and personal he was never expecting, ever.

Is Seungcheol going to be naked for this whole session? Not that Jihoon is complaining or anything, but he has a hard enough time concentrating around the guy when he’s fully dressed, how is he going to cope with all the nice nakedness and dancing and touching and nakedness—and _nakedness._

Oh god, so much nakedness. How is he going to get through this session with his dignity intact?

Seungcheol shifts, tenses, there's a stiff reluctance to his movement that’s probably mirroring Jihoon’s reaction to all the— _nakedness_. “Jihoon, what’s wrong?”

Standing there staring at Seungcheol's naked body without speaking for five minutes is almost certainly a bad start.

There's a noise somewhere in Jihoon's throat, but he knows it will just make everything a thousand times more awkward, so he swallows it back down. It turns into a choked little huff of air.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, his brown eyes coaxing and serious.

Jihoon tips his head back until he can speak, finds he's over-estimated his ability to form words _quite_ yet, he swallows and tries again. “Woah.”

Seungcheol grunts, some sort of agreement. Possibly there's smugness there too, but Jihoon's ignoring that due to the guy having a big enough ego already. Seungcheol’s got the whole package: a beautiful face, long lashes, cute ears, full lips, athletic thighs, an exceptional ass and a nice cock too apparently.

Because really, of course the skill set he had wasn't wide enough!

He can probably make balloon animals as well!

Seungcheol has an eyebrow raised, smiling, no doubt waiting for Jihoon to say something stupid. It's an expression he thinks he shall be forced to become used to. He tries to remember what he was saying before he was bombarded with all the lovely _nakedness_ , and finds he's not quite sure.

“So,” Jihoon starts, as calmly as he can manage under the circumstance. “You’re very, very naked.” he points out, because really, there's no getting around it.

“Not completely. _I am still wearing a mask_ —Do you like it?” Seungcheol’s voice is easy and so deep in his throat it's more vibration than sound.

Jihoon tries to nod imperiously but he’s pretty sure he comes off more like a broken bobble-head. “Uhh—yea—mask. Very nice.” His strangled reply to that makes Seungcheol chuckle.

“I hope you don’t mind, but thought I would skip the strip tease segment of the session.” Seungcheol says, quiet and lazy, like he hasn't just pushed their agonising flirting further than it's ever been. Further than Jihoon has ever dared. 

“Unless of course—you _liked_ the strip-tease part the best. I could put my clothes back on?” Seungcheol’s cheeks flush dark, but his eyes have a predatory glint that makes Jihoon’s stomach tight.

“No—no I like the nakedness best!” Jihoon assures hurriedly, and there goes his dignity. He really wishes Seungcheol would stop asking him questions when he’s naked. He can’t be trusted to say anything sensible.

Seungcheol grins and takes slow careful steps, like Jihoon's a wild animal that might startle, and very gently takes his elbow.

“If this makes you uncomfortable—I can wear something.” he asks, then holds his breath as if he is just a little afraid of the answer.

Jihoon starts to reach out as though to assure Seungcheol but just winds up waving his hands around ineffectively. “No. N.O! Nope—noooo!”

Has he said no enough? Maybe he should say it again once more to be sure! He makes an involuntary noise, somewhere between a whimper and a cough. “No, it’s _fine_.”

“Okay then, shall we get started?” Seungcheol asks, drippingly coquettish.

Jihoon nods slowly, the air feels syrup-thick in his throat. Seungcheol catches his wrist and Jihoon's heartbeat jumps, but Seungcheol just tugs him towards the couch and - oh, yeah—it’s probably a good idea to sit down before he passes out.

"He’s trying to kill me," Jihoon whispers with feeling, and tries to find a comfortable position on the chair.

There isn't one. He wants to touch himself, wants to push his hand inside his pants and just shove into his fist until he comes, it wouldn't take much. It wouldn't take anything at all. But Seungcheol has already moved over to the sound system to start the music.

And, oh fuck—now Jihoon has a better view of Seungcheol’s entire body. Which is absolutely worth it, because Seungcheol has the most amazing ass, especially from this angle - no that's a lie, it looks good from every angle.

Why would you even pick an angle when you could just go for all of them?

Jihoon was kind of in love with Seungcheol’s ass even before Seungcheol surprised him with the full frontal nudity. Now he wants to slide off the couch and bite it.

He should totally do that.

No, he shouldn’t.

He’ll definitely pass out of he stands up right now.

 

* * *

 

[Start of lapdance music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79Giff2sB6U)

When Seungcheol begins his routine, Jihoon’s hands bunch in the leather chair at his sides as Seungcheol slips to the floor between his knees, begins rubbing his face (mindful of the mask) against Jihoon’s thighs, his crotch, his stomach.

Jihoon breathes heavily as Seungcheol slithers up and turns around, and suddenly Jihoon has a lapful of Seungcheol’s perfect ass teasing his cock. Jihoon swears and claws at the arm-rest.

He’s pretty sure Seungcheol’s bare ass grinding against his dick is worse than waterboarding, probably worse torture than electrocution. It crushes the ache at his crotch in a way that makes it almost bearable though.

For a brief moment, Jihoon wonders if this is reality, or if he’d gotten so fucking wasted on complimentary drinks that all of this a terribly erotic fantasy brought on by his pitiful loss and loneliness.

“S.Coups I—“

The rest of the words choke to a stop when he's shoved back into the couch, pinned there by the weight of Seungcheol’s hand. A knee slides over Jihoon's waist, digs in the other side as Seungcheol hauls himself up and over, before settling, with not a little smugness, across his lap.

“I think we’re passed the S.Coups stage name, don’t you? I’d really like it if you just called me by my name. I know you know it.” Seungcheol purrs.

Jihoon can’t help but grin at what he considers a victory. “Seungcheol.” He concedes.

Seungcheol actually cracks a small smile at that, soft and relieved, “That’s better.” He whispers, before lacing his fingers around Jihoon’s neck and continues swaying to the beat of the music.

It's beyond amazing to have Seungcheol completely naked against him, smooth and hard in places Jihoon has never touched, and he wants to touch, god he wants to.

And he should!

He's touched him a hundred times.

_A hundred times._

It shouldn’t be any different.

But somehow it is.

He carefully curls his hands round Seungcheol's waist and pulls him closer, and Seungcheol moves under the pressure obediently, in a way that makes Jihoon swallow, and then swallow again.

The sight of Seungcheol’s cock, warm and heavy on his lap is enough to cause Jihoon to shiver and want more, want everything. He's well within Seungcheol’s personal space now. Enough to object to, under normal circumstances. One movement, one shift and Jihoon will have Seungcheol’s cock caught between his thighs. He'll be able to feel more than just the curious and distant brush of him through his clothes.

Jihoon takes a shaky little breath, incapable of doing anything other than  _wanting_.

Seungcheol’s leans in close till their noses are almost touching, and there's a curl of lust in his eyes that intensifies as he reaches up and whips the mask off his face.

As he continues his routine, Jihoon is amazed at how each time is new, different—captivating. It's exactly like every other time Seungcheol's done this - and nothing like it at the same time.

The way his back bends as he rolls his hips is frankly sinful as he thrusts his cock against Jihoon’s stomach, pink tongue sticking out to lave over a bottom lip. Everything is making Jihoon’s dick ache painfully, grow wet at the tip with anticipation.

Soon their bodies fall into an easy rhythm, hips nudging, thighs flexing. It’s far too hard for Jihoon not to grind back into Seungcheol’s touch, not to match his enthusiasm.

He still doesn’t trust himself to touch Seungcheol without blowing a load in his pants, so he keeps his hands clasped firmly around Seungcheol’s hips.

* * *

 

The music changes, one song ending and just starting to bleed into the next, and Seungcheol slows the rhythm of his movements.

[Slower Second Lapdance music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chsnOSzLjJk)

“Since it’s a special occasion. I have a treat for you—curtesy of the club.” He says, gesturing to a tray at the side of the couch Jihoon has only just noticed. Seungcheol lifts the cloche lid and Jihoon examines the elaborate display in front of him.

He thought he knew what champagne and strawberries would look like, but he was wrong.

Jeonghan really did go all out.

The champagne is corked and set on ice, the label inky black with embossed lettering all in French. The strawberries are arranged on a scalloped silver tray, done three ways: one pile chocolate-dipped, one pile plain, and one pile rolled in a fine dusting of sugar.

Jihoon thinks he could definitely get used to this. “Wow, eating, alcohol _and_ a lap dance. Those are all of my favourite things.”

“Am I on that list?” Seungcheol murmurs, lips brushing maddeningly against the shell of Jihoon's ear.

“I—“ Jihoon starts, then stumbles on his words. He swallows nervously, looks Seungcheol in the eye, and manages to say, "Of course."

He lets Seungcheol pour him a glass and he slouches back, sipping his champagne, watching Seungcheol’s movements with sharp, hungry eyes, but not touching him. Not yet.

Seungcheol seems to sense his hesitation because he keeps reaching over to gently encourage his hand to explore, but each time Jihoon retracts it to rest on the side.

“I thought we were passed the whole awkward polite thing?” Seungcheol says. Though there's no judgement there. His voice is soft and reassuring.

“We are—I’m just really enjoying this champagne.” Jihoon says lazily.

Seungcheol frowns, taking the glass out of Jihoon’s hand. He tips it sideways, dipping two fingers into the flute to wet them. Seungcheol drifts them over his own skin, leaving a line of champagne from his throat to his sternum.

Jihoon watches, his breath falling low and heavy. Seungcheol sets the glass down and waits, eyebrow quirked in open challenge.

Jihoon leans forward, accepting the obvious invitation, but hesitates an inch from Seungcheol’s skin, looking up one last time as if to say ‘you can tell me to stop’.

“ _Jihoon_ ,” Seungcheol whines.

“Never hurts to check,” he murmurs, closing the distance.

He mouths at the hard line of Seungcheol’s sternum, his tongue a scrape of hot velvet over skin. He floats his fingers up Seungcheol’s spine, notch by notch, luxuriating in the easy pace of things. He sucks at the sharp cut of Seungcheol’s clavicle, drawing Seungcheol closer with blunt fingernails pressed into his hips.

Seungcheol’s skin tastes incredibly sweet, and when Jihoon’s tongue hits the hollow of his throat, tracing the champagne, he hears Seungcheol let out a little pleasured hum. He licks gently at the hollow of Seungcheol's throat, pleased when Seungcheol moves into the touch, his breath coming in shallow contented huffs.

When he tilts his head and sucks a pink nipple into his mouth, Seungcheol’s hands drop to his arms, fingers bunching into the fabric of the sleeves. “Ahh—yes!”

* * *

 

[Background music Strawberries and Champagne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5D3Nl1GZzuw)

They pass a solid hour getting breathless and sticky, Jihoon’s hands sliding possessively along skin that's fast become familiar, touching and licking a path across Seungcheol abdomen and Jihoon thinks Seungcheol has officially ruined the novelty of Champagne for him.

If he’s not licking it off a gorgeous guys body, he’s not doing it right.

With the glass now empty, Seungcheol leans over to rest it on the table, pinching a strawberry between his fingers and bringing it up to Jihoon’s lips. “Hungry?”

Jihoon grins and opens his mouth. When he bites down, the chocolate slides over his tongue, followed by a thin scrape of salt. Jihoon makes a low, pleasured noise. It’s sweet and tart and lingering.

Seungcheol grins at him and picks up another, this time a sugar-coated strawberry. He makes a show of wrapping his lips around the berry, sucking the sugar off the top, sinfully slow.

Despite his best attempts to stop it, Jihoon lets out an involuntary groan and there is no hesitation accepting it when Seungcheol presses the strawberry against his lips.

_He **is** trying to kill me!_

He allows Seungcheol to feed him a few more in a similar fashion, before he raises a hand to stop him.

“Can—can I feed you one?” Jihoon asks carefully, he was going for somewhere between teasing and respectful but got lost somewhere that sounds more like a worried dare. He isn't sure quite how that happened.

Seungcheol's tongue darts out to lick a smudge of sugar on his lip. “Hmm—Okay. Just one.”

Jihoon selects a chocolate dipped strawberry, pressing it softly to Seungcheol’s lips. Seungcheol leans forward, parts his mouth and makes a deeply satisfied noise that does uncomfortable things to Jihoon’s nether-regions when the chocolate brushes over his tongue. Then Seungcheol closes his mouth around the berry and Jihoon’s fingers both and gives a slow, wet suck, holding Jihoon’s gaze.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Jihoon says awkwardly, embarrassed as hell, but it just comes out, and he has no idea why. 

Seungcheol’s lashes flicker against his flushed cheeks and he looks at him then, hair curling over the edge of his forehead. There's just enough to fall in his eyes now, just enough, and Jihoon likes it like that. He likes the vulnerability it lends Seungcheol's face. He looks so much less like an untouchable sexual creature behind that hair. He can't resist pushing at it with his fingers, ruffling it and tugging Seungcheol’s head closer. “Another?”

Seungcheol tips his head, looks at him. “I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? I can’t eat this all to myself.” Jihoon says, with a little squeeze of his hand around Seungcheol’s hip.

“I—have to watch what I eat.” Seungcheol says at last, exquisitely embarrassed—practically squirming with it.

Jihoon sends him a narrow-eyed frown. “Because you’re working?”

Seungcheol lets out a heavy rattle of a sigh. “Because I need to lose weight.”

“That’s bullshit.” Jihoon blurts before he can second-guess himself, and is rewarded for his candidness with one of those sweet, dimpled smiles he cherishes. It gives him courage. “You don’t need to lose weight. That’s just—yeah, no—no you don’t.”

"Hmm." Seungcheol's not quite agreement comes out amused. “I have a massive sweet tooth and it goes straight to my gut.” He mumbles sullenly. Jihoon watches the way his shoulders tighten and knows that he’s trying not to surreptitiously suck in his stomach.

Jihoon actually feels bad for him. The insecurity is baffling and so fucking ridiculous.

He reaches up and smooths a hand over the soft skin of Seungcheol's stomach. Under his palm, Seungcheol’s stomach muscles contract, almost defensively.

Jihoon doesn’t like that one bit.

This is how he ends up reaching over to Seungcheol’s side and tickling him, which is really probably not appropriate, which is really probably rude on some level. It works, though; Seungcheol lifts his head and gives him a look that is half helpless gratitude and half ‘ _Don’t you dare, that tickles’_ , and it's such a fucking relief to see something like light in his eyes that Jihoon can hardly stand it.

_There you are_ , he thinks. He doesn't realize he's said it out loud until Seungcheol’s eyes change, until a dopey smile breaks briefly across his face.

He puts his knuckles against Seungcheol’s arm, runs them up and down. “You don’t have to lose weight Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol shrugs weakly. “I guess I have gained a few pounds recently, it happens. I’ll just hit the gym and shift it like I usually do.”

Jihoon shakes his head, bewildered. “I honestly haven’t noticed any weight gain. And as the official president of the S.Coups fan-club, if anyone is going to notice, it’s gonna be me. God knows I look at you long and hard enough.” He argues and Seungcheol's head tilts very slowly to the side, in surprise.

Jihoon realises exactly what he's just admitted to.

His subconscious gives him a sarcastic round of applause.

Honestly, his whole life is just a retraining order waiting to happen.

Jihoon ducks his head bashfully. “Can you just pretend I didn’t blatantly gush over you?”

Seungcheol smirks, lips pursing to keep back a laugh. “No, I think I want to remember that.”

Jihoon sighs. “I’m just saying, if anything, you need to gain weight. In fact—next time I come I’m gonna buy a giant tray of Krispy Kreme's and make you eat them.”

Seungcheol’s eyes hit his hairline. “Oh fuck, I _love_ Krispy Kreme's!” He gasps, then he shakes his head. “Oh, but no. I can’t. Hannie would flip.”

“What? Is **_he_** the one who told you to lose weight?” Jihoon asks, honestly curious, or honestly bewildered. He knows he’s coming dangerously close to scolding in his tone.

Seungcheol smiles wanly. “Hannie runs a tight ship, we all get weighed once a month and my costumes have been getting a little snug. And apparently, _Baby fat is for when you’re a baby.”_ Seungcheol mutters, sarcastic.

_That, at least, explains where the insecurity is coming from._

Jihoon frowns, he wants to fucking punch somebody. And then buy Seungcheol a tray of Krispy Kreme's. Seungcheol deserves all the Krispy Kreme's. Every fucking flavour. And a milkshake too. But punching Jeonghan the blasphemer comes first. How fucking dare he!

Jihoon knows he’s not a good person, not even a kind person normally, but he **_is_** a person who knows the value of what he sets his sights on. Jeonghan on the other hand is clearly an overly-critical ass, never the sort to waste a kind word when he has a harsh one handy - which Jihoon has always known, but it still makes him want to lob a paperweight at the back of the guys head.

“That’s insane. Hannie is insane. I can’t believe he weighs you—I can’t believe he has the balls to suggest that. **_Damn_** , just when I think I can’t hate the guy more.” Jihoon growls, letting all his confusion, and anger seep into his voice. “I hope you’re not going to take that suggestion seriously!” He snips.

Seungcheol takes a breath, his brow collapsed in thought. “It’s not really his fault. He’s just passing the message on. A few customers made comments.”

Jihoon frowns harder, if that’s even possible at this stage. Yeah—He’s definitely going to punch somebody. “Who are they? That’s fucking ridiculous. I can’t believe people!”

Seungcheol’s eyebrow cants up, like he honestly doesn't believe his reaction. “It’s fine, really. I’m used to it. People are here to look at my body after all. I should keep it in shape.” He says, and then he smiles, with something Jihoon is almost sure is false bravado. 

“You _are_ in shape! You’re the most in shape guy I know. Your body is fucking perfect!” Jihoon says. Seungcheol gives him a surprised, pleased look, and when Jihoon realizes what he's said he can feel himself blushing.

In the soft lighting of the private room, Jihoon sees that Seungcheol is blushing too. “It’s sweet of you to say that Jihoon” Seungcheol mumbles.

“But you don’t believe me do you?” Jihoon says, with a quiet simmer to the words, “Fuck—I’m so annoyed!”

Seungcheol's smile turns into a half-curve of his mouth, eyebrow twitching up momentarily. “Don’t be Jihoon, It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“Well, I _am_ annoyed and you shouldn’t be used to it. Dammit. I can’t believe that dick said that to you. Who does he think he is?”

“My employer?” Seungcheol offers with a sly smile.

“ **So!** It doesn’t mean he should get away with talking crap! Not everyone’s built like a rake. If I wanted to see rakes I would go to the fucking hardware store and look at rakes all day long. But I don’t do that because rakes aren’t fucking attractive!”

“Jihoon, it’s okay.” Seungcheol tries to placate, but Jihoon steam rolls ahead.

“No, it’s not! This is way humanity doesn’t deserve nice things! Those assholes don’t deserve to look at you if that’s what they think. Your body is perfect and you’re hot as fuck and people are complaining. I swear people just complain about anything these day, it’s so fucking ridiculous. They’re probably just fucking jealous.”

“You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?” Seungcheol says curiously, though there's a tone of amusement there.

“Upset? I’m actually livid. You should sue them—for _slander_. You should sue Hannie for asking you to weigh in every month. That’s gotta be some human rights violation at least.”

“Jihoon, I-“

“You know what? I’m gonna look into it and find out, then I’m gonna sue him.” Jihoon presses, stubbornly refusing to let the point drop.

Seungcheol sighs, but doesn't complain, or move, or even call him an idiot. So Jihoon just keeps on going.

“And another thing, I’m gonna find out who those customers were and I’ll sue them too. I’ll take them all to fucking court! Those sons of b—“

Jihoon has stopped, half-way through a word because there's pressure against his mouth, a warm curve that slides over his lower lip, behind a soft noise which might be a sigh.

It still takes a long confused second for him to realise that Seungcheol is _kissing_ him.

One hard press of mouth, a warm slide of tongue and insistence and the heavy edge of need. There’s a thumb, moving on the heat of his face, fingers sliding round to grasp the back of his neck. It's not tentative or questioning, Seungcheol kisses him like he knows he can, like he knows Jihoon won't say no.

There's a drag of fingers through his hair and Seungcheol makes a noise, something soft and incriminating into Jihoon's mouth before pulling back.

They stare at each other for a beat, the sound of their breathing harsh in the silence between songs.

[Background music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w936i2Weuz0)

“Thanks.” Seungcheol says, the breathless release of tension making him sound almost excited.

“Uhh—you’re welcome.” Jihoon says quietly.

Seungcheol shifts away, one slow lean. Jihoon’s hands briefly tighten on his waist but then let go completely and let him slide away.

There's a strange, taut silence before Seungcheol takes a breath, then another. The quick look he throws Jihoon is guilty, then anxious and then he just looks away.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m not supposed to kiss clients.” He says in a soft voice, and it's surprised, it's impossibly confused, and his mouth is still so close.

“I’m not complaining.” Jihoon assures. He watches Seungcheol's throat work around a swallow, and he waits with the patience of a goddamn saint for Seungcheol to look him in the eye.

When he finally does, his gaze is heavy on Jihoon's face, stunned and dark with desire. “It’s just that you’re so sweet and—handsome and I don’t usually get this kind of attention from guys I like. It’s— _nice_.”

Jihoon lets his thumb drift over Seungcheol’s face, brushes against the curve of his lower lip, feels the small intake of breath. “You _should_ get nice attention. You _deserve_ nice attention. I like—paying attention to you.” Jihoon says. His voice is soft with the weight of confession, as though he's saying something they aren't both painfully aware of.

There's a barely-there space between their mouths, and that's suddenly unacceptable to Jihoon. He can feel Seungcheol’s pulse, can feel the creeping tension under his fingers, and he wants to kiss him again, or he wants Seungcheol to kiss him again. He really doesn't care which. 

 He brings a hand up to Seungcheol’s face, traces a finger across his cheek, runs it across that absurd lower lip that’s been taunting him for weeks. Seungcheol’s lips part slightly in response, his eyes drop to find Jihoon's mouth, and then flick away again. Which is an invitation and a question all at the same time.

Jihoon’s not going to push, he won't demand anything. But by the look of it, he won't have to.

Seungcheol does nothing but breathe for a long moment. Long enough that Jihoon can't resist pushing at his carefully selected boundaries just a little. Can't resist cupping Seungcheol’s cheek and following the warm slide of breath back to the curve of Seungcheol's mouth and chancing something that he honestly hadn't planned.

Barely a kiss to start with, but then quickly becoming something he could in no way describe as anything else. Sweet, soft and warm, and Jihoon shifts up in his seat, to give himself some sort of equal footing without laying a hand on Seungcheol's neck, and physically pulling him down.

Seungcheol doesn't touch him for a long moment, and when he does it’s a cautious slide of fingers on his arms, warm through the thin cotton, only just tight enough to touch skin.

Jihoon brings his other hand up to frame Seungcheol’s face and fits their lips together more firmly. Seungcheol responds to this by huffing out a breath and parting his lips to deepen the kiss. 

He sucks, nips, runs his tongue along Jihoon’s lips, lets Jihoon pull him closer, lets Jihoon lick into his mouth. The kiss grows lazy, not quite so precise. Somewhere past careful and into simply indulgent. He's been single for so long, he deserves to be a little greedy. But there is something to be said for caution, for patience.

But Seungcheol is hard, his cock wet and impossibly hot against Jihoon’s thigh, a searing brand through the fabric of his trousers. Every pull of his hands draws him closer, tempts him into pressing in, pushing against that weight and listening to the sharp inhale that makes the kiss wet and broken.

There's no reason they shouldn't be doing this and every reason they should. They've been pushing here ever since they’ve started these sessions, pushing towards something harder, something hotter. Which makes everything tight and hurried in a way he doesn't want to slow down.

When they both pull away to breathe, Seungcheol doesn't go far, Jihoon tugs his head back, drags his mouth over Seungcheol’s throat, and the groan that falls out of him is broken. It makes Jihoon's hips shove hard against his, hands sliding over to grip his ass, teeth sharp and hard in Seungcheol's neck.

"Please—Jihoon—touch me." Seungcheol begs against the side of Jihoon's face, and there's a sharp burst of air against his ear.

Seungcheol's cock is a solid weight against the back of Jihoon’s fingers, and he can't resist skirting his knuckles along the leaking head, pulling a noise that he's never heard before out of Seungcheol's throat and then smothering it when he finally—fucking finally—curls his fingers around the thickness of Seungcheol’s cock.

It's so warm and Jihoon gives him a slow, deliberate pull, smooth and easy with the pre-come slicking his fingers.

“Oh—god, Jihoon.” Seungcheol’s voice, already low and raspy, goes even lower.

Jihoon mouths wetly at the hinge of his jaw. “Hush, now. I’ve got you.” He releases Seungcheol’s cock and slips his hand down to cradle his balls, weighing them, full and heavy in his palm. He rolls them gently, strokes his thumb over the fragile skin.

"Tell me you want this," Jihoon says roughly and Seungcheol's whole body jerks under the words, another trickle of pre-come leaking down his shaft. He’s close, so close, and Jihoon has barely touched him.

"Yes. You can have anything, anything you want," Seungcheol manages against the side of Jihoon's face.

One of Jihoon’s hands pulls down Seungcheol’s chest, fingers dragging on skin, until they reach a sensitive nipple still swollen from his earlier attentions. He toys with it, pinching it hard as the tight slippery fingers of his other hand move in quick, indulgent slides which shake apart any coherency Seungcheol would have had, and turn it into breathless noises.

“Hnnn—hoon. Yes!” Seungcheol pants breathlessly, and there are more swearwords and a hard roll of hips. 

Seungcheol’s hand moves up his side, looking for somewhere to catch, it settles for the curve of Jihoon's shoulder, fingers dig into the muscle and Seungcheol groans when Jihoon tightens his grip and sweeps his thumb over the head with each upward stroke.

Jihoon presses his thumb into Seungcheol’s slit just to hear him gasp, slick wetness between his fingers and his palm and Seungcheol moans shamelessly, head thrown back, baring his beautiful throat. 

“Can you come from this?” Jihoon asks as he speeds up the strokes, earning a shuddery cry from Seungcheol as he starts thrusting back into his fist, his hips erratic and needy. 

“Uhh—wait.” Seungcheol commands, breathless, pulling away suddenly.

Jihoon stills. “What’s wrong?” He tries to keep his tone gentle—the last thing he wants to do is scare Seungcheol away when they're finally getting somewhere.

“Nothing, I just—I want—let me.” Seungcheol's voice breaks on the words.

Seungcheol doesn’t waste time explaining what he wants. He doesn't leave any room for questions, any room for doubts. He meets Jihoon mouth to mouth, arching into Jihoon's touch even as he reaches down to undo Jihoon’s tie, to unbutton his shirt.

When Seungcheol resettles on top of him he's heavy in a completely different way, a way that makes Jihoon inhale, makes him groan his name.

He unzips Jihoon’s trousers, runs a sweat-damp hand down his chest and stomach and into his briefs. Jihoon lets his eyes fall shut when Seungcheol curls a warm hand around his cock, fingertips sliding down Jihoon's length with no hesitation, no questioning, tentative touches, just one long stroke that he didn't prepare for at all, didn't expect, and it pulls a gasp from him.

“Let me catch you up.” Seungcheol whispers, and everything becomes sensation then, heat and slippery wet skin. His thumb smooths across the wet head of Jihoon’s cock, slicking his length with precome.

Seungcheol sucks on the side of Jihoon’s neck, that perfect spot that makes goose-bumps run down his arms. Jihoon responds by palming Seungcheol’s ass and using it as a handgrip to pull Seungcheol tight up against him, their erections pressed between them in a delectable vice.

Jihoon drags his face along the side of Seungcheol’s jaw, searches blindly for Seungcheol’s lips, tongue slipping wetly into his mouth. At that same moment, Seungcheol’s clever fingers toy and pinch at his foreskin, tugging and squeezing hard enough to mix pain with pleasure.

"Cheol." It's not a whine, really it's not. But Seungcheol smiles into his mouth, and kisses him like it's an apology.  So Jihoon retaliates by shifting his thighs for the dirty shove of his hips that ruts his cock against the slick head of Seungcheol’s

Jihoon threads a hand in Seungcheol’s hair and kisses him until his mouth aches. Until they have to separate to breathe, Seungcheol hisses his name, like he's reprimanding him for something, and Jihoon can't remember the last time he felt this dizzy.

He’s sorely tempted to bring them both off like this: to grip Seungcheol’s ass in both hands and grind their cocks together, maybe flip their positions and haul Seungcheol’s leg up over his hip, rut into him mindless and crude until they’re both shaking apart.

He’s sure Seungcheol would let him too with how wanton he looks; his mouth bitten pink and half-open, his eyes hot and black, all pupil. Jihoon would normally feel self-conscious about how intently he's watching, but the way Seungcheol keeps murmuring his name under his breath, - it makes Jihoon rock his hips harder.

The burn in his groin flares again and Jihoon fights to keep his eyes open against the desire to scrunch his face up in agony. He tips his head down until he can look between their bodies, sees the length of Seungcheol's cock shoved up against his own, and he groans at the sight.

Seungcheol’s cock is steadily leaking between their stomachs, the mess letting them rub against each other in smooth, damp strokes.

"Oh—shit—Jihoon!" Seungcheol's voice has a quiet, needy tone to it. Jihoon will admit to getting far too attached to that sound. He attacks Seungcheol’s neck with his teeth and tongue, scours that long, pale stretch of skin with his canines.

Seungcheol claws at his shoulders, holding desperately tight as he bucks into Jihoon’s pelvis, frotting against his erection, grinding them both into a frenzy.

“Jihoon, Jihoon.” Seungcheol repeats his name breathlessly. Jihoon can hear every second of it. Every soft noise is magnified a thousand times.

Impatient, Seungcheol snakes a hand between them and wraps one of those devastatingly capable hands around both of their cocks, massaging the heads as he continues to rub their shafts together. The messy friction is sharp and intense, almost too much to be pleasurable.

Jihoon gasps and shoves with his hips, too cramped to get anything in the way of leverage or force. His thigh aches and burn where Seungcheol presses into them too hard and not hard enough.

He has to tip his head back and stare at the dark ceiling while Seungcheol’s hand jerks them, mouth shifting to his ear and there's a slow stream of warm breath and suggestions, the husky roll of his voice it making it all filth.

He hisses and, without thinking, sinks his teeth into the firm curve of Seungcheol’s shoulder. _Hard_. He feels Seungcheol’s entire body jolt with a startled cry, feels Seungcheol’s cock flex against his, the slice of pain pushing Seungcheol closer to climax.

Gripping Seungcheol by the waist, he mutters encouragement “ _Christ_ , Cheol yes, come on beautiful...come for me.” Then bites the curve of Seungcheol’s ear and Seungcheol shoves against him, crushes him back into the couch hard enough to rattle his spine.

They're going to make a devastating mess on this couch and he doesn't even care, because everything is good, all of it, and Seungcheol is going to come over him. He doesn't even get to finish the moan that thought drags out of him, before Seungcheol manages a choked breath and his whole body tenses.

And then he’s watching Seungcheol come, spilling hotly over his stomach, his chest and his cock. It’s a thousand times hotter in real life than it is in porn and his own breath stutters, he’s so close himself.

Thankfully, Seungcheol is a considerate partner. With his dick still twitching in orgasm, he uses his own come to ease the way as he strokes Jihoon’s cock with a tight fist.

Jihoon’s grunting, loudly, but can't quite bring himself to care, far too interested in the tight grasps of Seungcheol’s fingers and the building pressure in his stomach.

Seungcheol’s staring a little glass eyed at his jerking hand sliding over Jihoon’s cock, and Jihoon drops his head to watch too. It gives him a glimpse of his come splattered stomach and Seungcheol’s hand smearing the wet lines of his release. The slip-slide of his actions an extra stab of sensation and the twisting in his gut winds tighter, until –

“Fuck, I’m close,” Jihoon gasps. His vision starts to swim but he can’t tear his eyes away from the blur of Seungcheol’s fist on his cock.

He groans low, and fucks up into Seungcheol’s fist sudden and frantic. One final twist of Seungcheol’s wrist and he’s done for, jetting into the space between them with a shudder of bliss and relief and soul-cleansing groan; painting streaks of come all over Seungcheol’s stomach and chest.

“Cheol – _fuck_ ,” he stutters as Seungcheol strokes him through it, movements tapering to a firm yet gentle hold as both of their heartbeats level out.

A groan pulls them apart, leaves them just breathing into each other, foreheads pressed together, cooling down in ways which is going to be sticky and uncomfortable very shortly.

Jihoon tries to regain his breath and focus his mind, but it’s proving difficult with Seungcheol’s hand still on his half-hard cock, slowly stroking and playing with the foreskin. It’s a cute and frustrating quirk—keeping his libido on simmer.

He can hear his own breathing, can hear Seungcheol's, the music has stopped and it's suddenly warm and strangely quiet.

Jihoon takes in the view of Seungcheol perched on top of him, with lazy eyes and Jihoon’s come splattered across his chest. The sight does something to him, provokes Jihoon’s territorial instincts yet soothes them at the same time. With deliberate movements, he reaches up to rub the gleaming drops into Seungcheol’s skin, making careful note of the way Seungcheol’s breath trembles as he does.

Exhaustion wraps around him after. His body is slow to quiet from the rush of physical satisfaction, and it takes him an extra moment or three to realize that Seungcheol is using a napkin to wipe them both decent again.

Nearly decent, anyway. Jihoon’s dress shirt is a mess. He'll have to think of some disaster to chalk it up to if anyone stops him in the corridor and asks.

It still takes them a long moment to slide away from each other in the dark, and with the absence of Seungcheol’s weight Jihoon feels the prickling drag of cool air across his damp skin.

Seungcheol hasn't moved far, arm pressed against the length of Jihoon's, one of Seungcheol’s legs slides over his, a press of weight and muscle that could be an afterthought but feels like something else entirely.

Things could be awkward now, but they aren't. Mutual satisfaction suffuses the air between them.

That was the hottest thing he’s ever done, and the hottest guy he’s ever done it with, and Jihoon can't speak, can't risk saying anything that will push this moment in a direction he doesn't want to go.

"That was...awesome." Seungcheol says into the long strange quiet, his voice sounds like someone's stolen half of it.

Jihoon has never been very good at looking smug, so he just looks dishevelled instead. “Yeah.” he says, feeling sweaty and happy and flushed, red-lipped and rubbery-jointed. 

Seungcheol’s eyes drift sideways to find his. “I don’t—usually do that.” He whispers.

“Good. You better not.” Jihoon says, brazen with relief.

Seungcheol blinks and stares and clearly doesn't know what to say.

Jihoon takes a deep breath before explaining himself. “It’s just—I get insanely jealous just thinking about you giving private sessions to others in general. Hell—sometimes I feel like telling people to stop watching you on stage, so I don’t even want to _think_ about the possibility of you doing this with anyone else.” He knows he’s coming across possessive and he patently doesn’t give a fuck.

Seungcheol is meaningfully quiet at him for long enough that Jihoon wonders if he's ever going to speak again. Then he rolls his head sideways until he can look at Jihoon. “You should stop coming here.”

“Wh—why?” Jihoon says, voice crackly and hoarse. More questions hover on Jihoon's tongue, and his heartbeat is a ragged mess of confusion.

Seungcheol presses his lips together with a tight little shake of his head. “Don’t waste your money. We could meet elsewhere, if you wanted.” He says slowly, and the fact that he doesn’t look away for a second makes something tighten in Jihoon's chest. Like he's admitting something that's been true for a long time, that he'd thought about, but never said anything.

Jihoon can feel his own pulse in his throat. A strange unsteady rush that probably would have made him want to sit down, if he hadn't been sitting down already.

“Like—like a date?”

Seungcheol flushes beautifully. “That would be nice.” He says agreeably. He smiles for a second and then immediately looks pensive again, biting his thumb anxiously, voice dropping. “But if you don’t want to date me, we could just meet up and do other stuff. I don’t ever ask guys back to mine for—other stuff, but—you’re different.” Seungcheol says softly.

Jihoon is honestly not expecting that, and it throws his carefully re-stacked thoughts into disarray - he'd literally just got them back together again.

“That sounds awesome.” Jihoon says, with a sort of jittery uncertainty.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol whispers.

Jihoon looks at Seungcheol, at the soft, uncertain, confused way he looks back. It's a familiar look. But Jihoon knows what Seungcheol looks like braced over him now, mouth open, murmuring his name, over and over, and his heart just  _clenches._

“The dating.” He clarifies, because he thinks he should. Just to be absolutely fucking clear.

He's still trying to work out if that means anything or not, and if he wants it to mean anything, and what it means if it did mean something. The world has an over-abundance of meaning right now and he's veritably dizzy with it.

“Dating sounds awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Not full on smut but....I'm getting there. They're discovering each other. Patience XD  
> 2) Thank you for the lovely, inspiring comments. I treasure them and I really appreciate the feedback and music suggestions :)  
> 3) I personally think Seungcheol has lost a lot of weight this era--I know being an idol is demanding stuff, but I hope he's not under pressure to adhere to some image that doesn't suit his body type. :( He's not a boy, he's a man. I love and appreciate his thickness!! I hope somebody buys him some Krispy Kreme's.  
> 4) Cue awkward date planning.  
> 5) Also, wild guess which VIP needed an ambulance called XD  
> 6) Hope you enjoy


	8. Messaging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter and dating is hard.

Jihoon's weekend had started so well.

He’d kissed Seungcheol— _a lot_. And touched his dick. Then Seungcheol had touched his dick. Then they touched _dicks—together._ Then kissed some more. And then after that—they kissed, _while_ touching dick.

Basically, there was a lot of kissing and dick on dick and it was awesome. But then he comes into work on Monday morning and starts to overthink.

That's the worst thing he can do because if his previous sexual/romantic entanglements have taught him anything: analysis is his enemy.

He over-analyses everything, replaying conversations and looking for hidden meanings till the events are distorted.

He shouldn't be over analysing anything at this stage, because they both had fun and _yeah—they’ve_ agreed to give the whole dating thing a go.

Which is great—awesome even. Thing is, they were both so relieved to be on the same page—they sorta just left the idea hanging there. No foregone conclusion as to who would be calling whom, or where they would be meeting up, or what date.

They pretty much said their goodbyes when the session ended—there was a gentle peck on the lips, a shy smile and Jihoon had left.

Dating usually involves an agreement of sorts; a where and when and a what.

So, somebody is going to have to contact the other pretty soon to arrange something and here within lies his problem.

Jihoon thinks it has to be him because he technically suggested the whole dating thing. Seungcheol may have been hinting at it—but he’s the one who put a name to it, so by some date instigating law—it’s his responsibility to arrange a date. He thinks. He's not _exactly_ overflowing with dating expertise, but he's sure he should make the first move.

Which means he needs to message Seungcheol.

Via text. **Awkward.**

Nevertheless, he’s going to do it and it’s going to be today. Today, after a long day of strategy meetings and briefings and before Seungcheol forgets about him.

He opens up a new message and stares at the blinking cursor while his heartbeat pounds in his throat just from thinking about it.

People do this all the time. They casually ask people on dates, and never, to the best of Jihoon's knowledge, has it ever resulted in a lawsuit. Which doesn't change the fact that Jihoon has never done this before, and his chances of screwing it up are about fifty-fifty. No, scratch that. His chances of screwing this up are 100%, because this is Jihoon.

He types out his opening message in a draft dialogue box and sits back to analyse it.

 

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Hey—It’s Jihoon. I was thinking about what you said about dating. When should we do that?

Oh wow, could he sound more indecisive and needy? And why is he introducing himself, Seungcheol has his number, he knows it’s him.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Hey, so about this date. What suits you?

Still too indecisive.

He doesn’t have to be indecisive.

He’s got a great idea about where to take Seungcheol; a gorgeous little Italian bistro with a beautiful view of the river. Great food, wine, atmosphere. And it’s only a short walk from Jihoon’s penthouse.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
I know a lovely little Italian place, we could go on Wednesday.

Now he’s assuming Seungcheol has nothing to do on Wednesday night. He knows he's not working because he has his work schedule memorised, but the guy probably has a life outside of work.

Unlike _some_ people.

Stop, now is not the time for self pity.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
So, could we meet up? Maybe have dinner with me? How does Italian sound?

Why? So? Many? Question? Marks?

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Hey, if you're not busy this Wednesday, there is this great Italian bistro I think you would love.

No, no, no.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
I’d love to take you out for dinner and I know the best place. Are you free this Wednesday? 

That's still too desperate, and he's not sure he wants to be that honest. He's supposed to be going for casual yet interested. It's like he's using the same words over and over, in different combinations and never getting it right.

Maybe he should just stop trying to gently ease into it and be direct.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
COME EAT FOOD WITH ME!

That’s perhaps too direct. And demanding. And maybe a little scary.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
I WANT TO EAT FOOD WITH YOU!

Yeah....no. Jihoon deletes that one with a heavy stab.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
LET ME FEED YOU!

That’s just creepy. He’s giving the impression he’s into some food feeder fetish thing.

Which might be true but not the kind of honesty Seungcheol would appreciate straight off the bat.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Hungry? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
We should eat together?

There, there it is, stark and simple, no chance of misinterpreting that. No way Seungcheol could think he's mistaken about the meaning. Or could he? Is it too simple?

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
We should eat FOOD together.

Well, now that seems too obvious.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Should we eat food together?

It looks like he's questioning the morality of eating food with Seungcheol. This isn't an ethical crisis.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Shall we dine together?

Shall? What the hell. He isn't lord of the fucking manor.

Keep it simple.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
I think we should have dinner together.

Sounds a little pushy, Seungcheol wouldn't appreciate being told what he should do. _Or maybe he would...._

More on that later.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Knock. Knock.

Wow. He's really nailed that creepy, movie serial killer texting his victims vibe.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Do you want to eat food with me?

That's great, now he just sounds like a toddler trying to make friends.

Maybe he should tell Seungcheol where he's planning on taking him, that's a good opening line? Maybe he's heard of it already and it will get him excited.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Brera, 41, Dasan-ro, Jung-gu, Seoul 04600. Be there at 7pm on Wednesday.

Now it just sounds like he’s holding one of Seungcheol’s loved ones hostage and is sending him the address for the ransom exchange.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
You + Me, this Wed @ Brera Bistro @ 7pm?

Too direct, there is nothing personal about that at all.  
He doesn’t want to come across lifeless and robotic. Should he emoji it up?

Honestly, emoji’s are not really his style. Admittedly, he has tried emoji’s and he can’t help but feel like a teenage girl when he uses them.

He could condescend and allow himself to send an emoji—for Seungcheol’s sake. Seungcheol is definitely an emoji guy. Seungcheol would appreciate an emoji.

But what one to send? Emoji’s are like some secret language he’s never been able to grasp. He could send it and come across like a fucking pervert, send another and look like a tween.  
There’s gotta be books or research articles on how to send emoji’s.

 **No, no.** He’s not researching appropriate use of emojis for this text.  
He’s just not going to use emojis at all, because they are confusing and leave a lot of room for interpretation in his opinion. It’s opening up the possibility of awkward back and forth vagueness and he needs less of that in his life right now.

........

Jihoon still hasn't worked out the best opening five minutes later, looking dramatically out of his office window, like there might be someone in the offices across the street who can help him with this.

He opens a new message and texts Soonyoung.

 

Soondead  
  
I need a quick 101 on being less awkward when texting.

He presses send, then has an inspiring thought.

 

Soondead  
  
Also, a brief guide on using emoji’s. Don’t ask why just help me.

Soonyoung's reply is instantaneous.

 

Soondead  
  
Woah! Are you asking for help? From Me? ((+_+))

Soondead  
  
EMOJIS? HOLY SHIT! (＠_＠;) RBHANFKJJB!! SINCE WHEN DO YOU USE EMOJIS? (>_<) SINCE WHEN DO YOU WANT TO USE EMOJIS?

Soondead  
  
OH. MY. GOD. Are you trying to flirt with somebody through text? ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)

Soondead  
  
First of all. Yes, I am asking for help. Do I need to remind you how many times I have saved your ass and have asked for nothing in return? Secondly, I told you not to ask. Thirdly, you're the worst, the absolute worst. And last of all, are you gonna help me or not?

Soondead  
  
Holy shit who is it? (^_-) Who would you use emoji's for? You never ask for favours. I'm.....(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ  
  
As for your awkward texting and teaching you how to be less awkward...For you? ಥ_ಥ Impossible.  
  
You are in your very nature, awkward. It's just you. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Especially with flirting.  
  
But I for one have always found your stiff robotic texting rather charming. Be ur robotic self. ̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\з=( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ I believe in you.

Holy shit can that guy emoji.

Resigning himself to it, he opens the message box with Seungcheol’s number punched in.

It would probably be better to meet on neutral ground and go from there. Whatever constitutes neutral ground anyway.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Do you want to have dinner with me?

Jihoon types it out and then stares at it for a second, before deleting the 'with me' because it sounds too desperate and pleading.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Do you want to have dinner?

That doesn't look right any more, it's just a question that hangs, awkwardly, forcing Seungcheol to have some sort of opinion on eating. Jihoon might as well not be involved at all. He's pretty much just encouraging Seungcheol to have dinner without him. He's going for a mutual fine dining thing here. So that isn't going to work.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
We should have dinner!

It looks like he’s reminding Seungcheol to eat his dinner, just in the off chance Seungcheol has forgotten his dinner and it’s sitting somewhere cooling.  
It _would_ be a shame if Seungcheol forgot to eat his dinner, but he’s not trying to sound like Seungcheol’s mother for fucks sake.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Hey, we should have dinner.

Jihoon can't decide if that sounds too casual or too demanding. He doesn't want to give Seungcheol the impression that he feels entitled.

Maybe he should put a question mark on the end?

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Hey, we should have dinner?

Now it just looks like he can't make up his mind about whether he wants to see him or not. Immature and indecisive, perfect.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
So, do you want to have dinner with me or something?

That definitely sounds too casual, it sounds like Jihoon doesn't even care, like he just wants to use Seungcheol as some sort of time-killing device so he can enjoy eating Italian food without going alone.

Does Seungcheol even like Italian food?

It’s not a guaranteed winner on a first date. But, who doesn’t like Italian food?

What if Seungcheol hates Italian food?

Oh my god, what if Seungcheol hates pizza? That would be awful.

Does Jihoon want to be with somebody who hates pizza?

That’s a deal breaker for sure. But, is he ready to dismiss the idea of dating Seungcheol over his clearly irrational hatred of Pizza?

He’s going to have to look past Seungcheol’s shocking hatred of pizza and judge him based on something less superficial, like his looks or something.

Maybe Jihoon should suggest some sort of generic, non-pizza-based date and then deal with the potential pizza-hating boyfriend down the line.

After some agonizing deliberation and quite a bit of editing, he comes up with:

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
I've been thinking about you non stop and I think we should have dinner together.

Is it possible that he's actually getting worse at this?

Why is this so hard? People ask each other out on dates all the time via text, why can't he get this right?

He knows he’s missing something, without a doubt, but he’s unsure what. Perhaps he isn’t as smart as he likes to believe.

Jihoon’s never dated somebody like Seungcheol before; didn’t think it was possible. He’s had two, maybe three steady relationships in the past (although the third might be pushing the definition of a relationship a little) to work off here.

There was never a thrill of something new or different in his previous relationships, they always felt safe and frankly, boring. He couldn’t find anybody at college he meshed well with and he always told himself he had to get out into the world and get his heart broken first.

Now he’s been out in the real world for some time and he’s still waiting.

Both of his sisters met their husbands in their hometown. Jihoon’s not sure if they're lucky or limited.

Jihoon’s travelled the world, dated a bit, fucked a lot, and thought all of this was needed to be a well-rounded individual. Except now at 28, he’s back where he was at 18.  
He can’t help but wonder if all the years between the then and now were a waste of time – if he lost ten years of time being oblivious to what he could have had all along, at least on an emotional level.

Maybe this is why he’s finding it so hard.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Do you like food? Do you want to eat food with me sometime? I think us eating food together would be nice.

That just sounds stupid. He actually sounds special.

He drags a hand through his hair in frustration before typing out every anxious thought in his head.

 

Draft: Seungcheol  
  
Look, I don't really know how to do this, I have limited dating experience, but I really like you and want to take you out for dinner somewhere this week. I was thinking this Wednesday but I don’t want to just assume you’re free. And I have a place in mind but I keep overthinking every little detail because I’m physically terrified you won’t approve of it or that you’ll just go along with it cause you’re not the type to complain. I’m doubly terrified of doing something embarrassing in public and you know by now I’m totally capable of that because I’m one awkward motherfucker around you. Please help me make decisions or I might cry! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

Jesus, Jihoon really hit the awkward and desperate jackpot there. Could he sound any more like a raving lunatic if he tried.

  
He’s definitely not sending that message, but it’s surprisingly good therapy typing out all his anxieties even if he doesn’t send it.

  
He's about to delete the draft text when he's interrupted by a knock on his office door. He quickly places his cell phone down as his boss steps through the door and rises from behind his desk.

“Jihoon—just stopping by to congratulate you on the Seho case. Another one in the bag.” The senior partner says.

“Thank you sir.” Jihoon bows politely.

“I hope you celebrated accordingly.” His boss says and actually finger-guns him.

Jihoon wishes he had a real gun to real gun him back.

“It’s on my things to do list, after I nail this Park case, sir.” He answers instead, because bullshitting with the big wigs gets you to the top.

“Thatta boy!” his boss says, finger gunning him as he backs out of the door.

Jihoon smiles wanly as the door shuts behind his boss and slumps back into his chair.

  
Where was he? _Oh yeah!_

He picks up his cell phone and swipes the dimmed screen.

That’s weird.

It’s a blank message screen.

Where is the long ass message he typed?  
….  
….  
…  
_**Oh god.**_

Oh god, no.

Oh fuck.

No.

Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

His fingers twitch against his phone as he puts two and two together. He scrambles to open his sent messages and....

 

Seungcheol  
  
Look, I don't really know how to do this, I have limited dating experience, but I really like you and want to take you out for dinner somewhere this week. I was thinking this Wednesday but I don’t want to just assume you’re free. And I have a place in mind but I keep overthinking every little detail because I’m physically terrified you won’t approve of it or that you’ll just go along with it cause you’re not the type to complain. I’m doubly terrified of doing something embarrassing in public and you know by now I’m totally capable of that because I’m one awkward motherfucker around you. Please help me make decisions or I might cry! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻  
  
**Today** 14:15 PM

Jihoon clamps his fingers round the edge of the metal and plastic, until he can't feel them any more, because what the fuck did he just do? He must have accidentally pressed the send button when he was placing his phone down on the desk.

Why did he do that? He makes some sort of awful, choked noise of terrible distress.

He checks to make absolutely sure he sent it, and it isn't somehow sitting in his drafts folder.

Shit, _yeah,_ he definitely sent it.

Jihoon bites down hard on his lip, feeling adrenaline and anger searing through him. He sets the phone down and glares at it—like perhaps the glaring will bring the message back.

This is his phone's fault. How could his phone do this to him? Him and his phone used to be close, but now, now his phone is dead to him.

The emoji didn't even send correctly for fucks sake! Thanks for nothing phone!

Why isn’t there a way for him to recall messages? There should be an app or something at least. People must accidently send messages they’re not meant to all the time. There should be like a five minute rule or something at least.

DAMN THE EFFICIENT SPEED OF NETWORK CONNECTIVITY!!

Oh my God, he shouldn't have done that.

This is an awful idea, this is the stupidest thing he's ever done. This could probably go on the list of the stupidest things Soonyoung has ever done.

There is a horrible lurching feeling in his stomach, he thinks he might be sick. Because he can't take that back, he can't pretend he never sent it.

 _Unless—maybe,_ somehow he can find out where Seungcheol is, distract him, steal his phone and destroy it before he reads it.

He opens the message again and freezes.

 

Seungcheol  
  
Look, I don't really know how to do this, I have limited dating experience, but I really like you and want to take you out for dinner somewhere this week. I was thinking this Wednesday but I don’t want to just assume you’re free. And I have a place in mind but I keep overthinking every little detail because I’m physically terrified you won’t approve of it or that you’ll just go along with it cause you’re not the type to complain. I’m doubly terrified of doing something embarrassing in public and you know by now I’m totally capable of that because I’m one awkward motherfucker around you. Please help me make decisions or I might cry! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻  
  
**Read:** 14:19 PM

Message read at 14:19. Seungcheol has read his message. _Oh fuck._

Why hasn't he replied back?

It's only been a minute since Seungcheol read his message—but it feels like a fucking hour. He suspects that Seungcheol isn’t going to reply to that and Jihoon’s first tragically inept attempt at dating him is just going to hang awkwardly out there in the ether forever. He groans inwardly as he imagines the look on Seungcheol's face as he reads that message. He looks at the screen, struggling with his own neurosis and growing progressively worried.

The next time he sees Seungcheol he’ll probably deny him entry into the Prosecco room along the grounds of awkward texting.

He’s probably show the message to his dancer friends. They’ll all gather around the water-cooler and laugh about it.

Do strippers even _have_ a water cooler?

Well, he’ll show it to them gathered around the strippers equivalent of the water cooler anyway. Jeonghan will probably be there too, laughing his head off.

He spends the next couple of minutes vacillating wildly between insecure self-pity and absolute, blinding anger. Still no reply is forthcoming.

He presses his head to the cool surface of his desk and groans—then his phone buzzes.

It's a message from Seungcheol. Oh fuck.

Jihoon is tempted to delete it- the last thing he needs to see is some self-loathing, apologetic screed from the hottest guy in the world who is rejecting him- but he can’t quite bring himself to delete it either. He’ll leave it sitting there in his in-box, a kind of monument to his stupidity, waiting for a day when he can read it without throwing his phone out the window.

He opens his laptop to do some actual work. Types one sentence, then slams his laptop shut and grabs his phone.

Fuck it to hell. Might as well get the rejection out of the way.

 

Seungcheol  
  
You’re so cute! (✿◠‿◠) How about you just come over to mine? I can cook us dinner? Wednesday is perfect because my flatmate is out! ＼(^o^)／And it’ll be just the two of us so you can be as awkward as you like Cherry Tomato ಠ‿↼ . Looking forward to it! (/◕ヮ◕)/.

Jihoon stares at the message, then stares at it some more. He reads it ten times and it doesn't change. There's no way to misinterpret that. But Jihoon finds himself trying to think of one anyway, reading it over and frowning. Until he has no choice but to accept that it must mean exactly what it says and a bloom of heat starts between his shoulder blades and swiftly spreads. He can’t help the grin that spreads over his face. It should feel embarrassing. But instead, Jihoon lets the feeling surround him, washing over him in waves until it feels more like a victory than anything else.

"Holy shit, I can't believe that worked."

That's got to be the most embarrassing message he has ever sent anyone. Ever. And Seungcheol handled it like a pro.

He'll probably tease him about it later, but he still wants to go out with him. He trusts him enough to invite him over to his apartment even after the awkward, desperate vibes that message was reeking.

Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief. Well, that wasn't so hard now was it.

Now he just needs to figure out what he's going to wear.

Oh.

Oh, no.

WHAT IS HE GOING TO WEAR!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Using html code is hard.  
> 2) I did my best, I wanted it in message format as much as possible and I could spend hours tweaking the layout to get it more authentic but.....I can't be arsed. Also, does it matter?  
> 3) What IS Jihoon going to wear?  
> 4) Hope you enjoy!


	9. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahh--poor nervous Jihoon.

Jihoon withholds his next panic attack until Seungcheol texts him his address. Now, it’s official.

It's happening, it's actually happening.

He starts wiggling in his seat with excitement, doing honest-to-god fist pumps. He’s so keyed up that he manages to delay his panic until later that night, standing in front of his closet with a blank and helpless stare. He doesn’t have a thing to wear.

Ohh—unintentional rhyming.

It’s not that he doesn’t _have_ clothes, it’s just that most of his wardrobe is a spectrum of black and grey. And suits. Boy does Jihoon have a lot of suits.

He could go in a suit!

No, on second thought—that’s trying _too_ hard. He’s not taking Seungcheol to the prom for fucks sake.

He’s not even sure where to start looking. What is a person supposed to wear to a dinner date at a strippers house? Jihoon’s never been to one, but it has to be more casual than the sophisticated client dinners and Michelin star fine dining he’s used to.

It should be something nice, but not _too_ nice. Not nice to the point where it’s obvious he’s gone and bought an entirely new outfit, even though that’s exactly what he intends to do.

He googles “dining with strippers”, looking for clues, and finds a bunch of useless pictures of naked men wearing nothing but bowties. Which would have served as nice jerking off fodder if he’d never met Seungcheol.

He downloads and re-watches Pretty Woman, Showgirls and Magic Mike for inspiration, because he vaguely remembers that the main characters were all related to strippers somehow. Half way though Pretty Woman he remembers it’s actually about prostitution and he really hopes neither him nor Seungcheol will be wearing a red dress at any stage of their date.

He’d originally rented Magic Mike because Soonyoung had lied and promised him there was a full-on sex scene between Mr no-neck Channing Tatum and some hot guy. (complete disappointment on that front, but still a decent movie). It doesn’t get him any closer to deciding on an outfit, and he sits through 15 minutes of Showgirls before he decides it’s an awful, awful movie. Jihoon has too much respect for his eyeballs to watch the rest of it.

Back to the drawing board essentially.

Jihoon has most of his suits tailored to fit because he can’t exactly buy off the rack with his height. But there's no time for bespoke tailoring. He _does_ buy off the rack in some stores for his casual clothing, but there are none of his favourite branches near where he lives because it's against the hipster building codes or something. He could go to the other end of the city, but the combination of rush hour traffic and location means the two hour journey is ridiculously excessive. He absolutely refuses to go to the mall, on principle.

He _could_ message Soonyoung and ask for help in deciding. So far Jihoon has resisted the urge to text Soonyoung and tell him that he has a date with Seungcheol because he senses that will be a conversation he doesn't want to have while he's surfing the fine edge of not freaking out, and freaking the hell out.

No matter how much he sort of wants to, because seriously, he managed to get a date with  _Seungcheol_. Though he suspects Soonyoung wouldn't be half as impressed by that as he is. Soonyoung would be so far from impressed, and there would be Soonyoung’s incredulous face and his surprised face to deal with.  

Seriously, though, the one time Soonyoung owes him for all those pre-case pep talks, court case freak-outs and moments of dire trial delays, and Jihoon can't collect on any of them. This is vexing.

He's completely on his own, fine, no problem, he can do this. It will not be a humiliating disaster. And why the hell did he even think the words 'humiliating disaster?' That's like punching fate in the nuts, and then running away or something.

He winds up wandering around his hipster heavy neighbourhood after work on Tuesday, getting increasingly pissed off with every shithole, second-hand "vintage" store he passes. He finally finds a place that sells clothes nobody's worn yet, a pretentious and overpriced men's shop that offers custom tailoring on purchase.

When he asks the salesgirl to help him find something "smart casual, but not too smart. OR too casual!" she doesn't laugh at him, so he decides to stay. For three hours.

He comes home with a cashmere sweater vest that looks pretty much exactly like all his other sweater vests he owns but _better_ , a silk tie and an amazingly tailored pair of dark pants that hug his ass and crotch in all the right ways.

He tries on the ensemble with his favourite shirt and shoes and the whole thing comes together handsomely. It's as hot as he's gonna get. He just hopes the tie isn’t too much.

* * *

 

When Wednesday comes around he realises there are more things to panic about.

He doesn’t know whether to eat normally during the day, or save himself for later. On one hand—he wants to be hungry so he can enjoy Seungcheol’s cooking and not be rude by leaving anything on his plate, on the other hand, if he starves himself he'll have to cover that awful stomach gurgling noise his gut makes when he’s digesting his own insides. He has a rapid metabolism and missing out on a meal usually results in _Grrrrglluglugrrrglurgglr_ noises that can sound suspiciously like tiny farts.

That would not be cool.

Speaking of which.. _Grrrrglluglugrrrglurgglr_

Yeah—he should probably eat something. Something _light_.

He’s halfway through a chicken salad wrap when Seungcheol texts him.

 

 

Seungcheol  
  
Hey Jihoonie! Looking forward to later! ｡◕‿◕｡ Just wanted to check if you are allergic to anything?

Seungcheol most likely means dietary allergies, which makes the most sense because he’s cooking. But Jihoon finds himself stupidly texting back.

 

 

Seungcheol  
  
Just cats!

Seungcheol replies with.

 

 

Seungcheol  
  
Ok then! I won't cook you any cats! (ᵔᴥᵔ) LMAO!

He laughs and then wonders whether he should tell Seungcheol about his awful tolerance to spicy foods. It’s too late now! He’ll just have to suck it up and eat the Curry Seungcheol will OBVIOUSLY be making him. He’ll just have to ask for a carton of milk to drink with it, then choke to death as his tongue swells from the heat and collapse.

On second thought.

 

 

Seungcheol  
  
I don't want to seem rude or inconvenient, (；一_一) but I'm not good with spicy foods.

Thankfully, Seungcheol's reply is blessedly immediate.

 

Seungcheol  
  
Me neither! I can just about tolerate mildly spicy, but I have to drink a carton of milk with it! Don't worry Cherry Tomato, I got you covered! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ 

Jihoon breathes out a sigh of relief, and stares down at his phone, where he's apparently missed two text messages from Soonyoung.

 

 

Soondead  
  
So......Are you gonna tell me who you've been flirting with? ┬┴┬┴┤ ͜ʖ ͡°) ├┬┴┬┴ 

Soondead  
  
We should get drinks later. You can tell me all about it! (~˘▾˘)~ 

Jihoon exhales, and shakes his head, then types one back.

 

 

Soondead  
  
Slow work day for you is it?

He gets a few minutes of interrupted research done before his phone vibrates enthusiastically across the desk.

“So have you got a date yet?” says the familiar and worryingly cheerful voice that apparently belongs to Unknown Caller. 

“I can’t believe you called me from a private number just to pester me.” Jihoon groans. Honestly, the lengths Soonyoung will go to sometimes. Although an opening, he still refrains from telling Soonyoung about his date. No need to give Soonyoung any reason to show up in person and pester him.

“This is my receptionists phone—you weren't replying to my messages so I had to take action.” He explains cheerfully. “So—who are you flirting with? Is it the new legal aid intern in your firm? He’s a little young for you don’t ya think?”

Jihoon promptly hangs up on him.

Soonyoung, because he thrives on being annoying, keeps right on texting him. From an entirely different number.

Soonyoung only has one receptionist, so who knows who’s phone he’s acquired this time.

 

 

Unknown  
  
Me again! Persistent little shit aren't I? (▰˘◡˘▰) 

Unknown  
  
Is it that guy in Starbucks who gives you the free coffee? (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿) He's cute!

Unknown  
  
Wait.....≧☉_☉≦ I really hope it isn't who I think it is.

Jihoon shoots back a reply to all three of them.

 

 

Unknown  
  
Why are we friends? I can't talk now. Busy. TTYL. I'm blocking this number btw.

He disconnects his office landline and then shoves his cell phone under his thigh. Because he knows Soonyoung too well to pretend that he won't send him any more messages.

* * *

 

He thinks it would be rude to show up to Seungcheol’s empty handed.

He should bring something….

He does a few fruitless internet searches on ‘What to bring to a first date that isn’t flowers’, but most of the results latch on to the search term ‘flowers’ and naturally keep suggesting flowers.

Jihoon eventually just texts Wonwoo in frustration.

 

 

Thewonandonly  
  
Just between you and me. And I mean that....if we were going on a date, what would you like me to bring? What would you expect?.

Then he texts him again two minutes later.

 

 

Thewonandonly  
  
Just to clarify, that is in no way my vague attempt at asking you out on a date. I'm looking for advice.

Wonwoo doesn’t respond. He’s either offended Jihoon’s **not** asking him out, or maybe suspicious that he is.

Jihoon ends up taking an extended lunch to walk the streets near his office, looking for ideas.

He steps into a florists, just for some inspiration. He’s no sooner through the door when the over enthusiastic assistant is rounding up on him. “Can I help?”

“Oh—Well, yeah. I have a date and I was wondering what I should bring.” Jihoon asks carefully.

“Flowers are an excellent choice for a date! You should buy flowers!” the florist says.

 _Well, of course you’d say that—you work in a florists._ “Uh-huh. Okay." Jihoon says, unconvinced. Although, what was he expecting from a florist in a flower shop anyway? "I was really just looking for inspiration. I don’t want to arrive empty handed, but I’m not sure flowers are the _right_ gift for a man.”

“Are you suggesting that flowers aren’t masculine enough?” The florist says, suddenly defensive.

Jihoon pulls a face, because he wasn't saying that at all- except for where he almost certainly  _was_.

The florist makes a rude noise and gives Jihoon what he probably thinks is a subtle once-over. “Flowers are genderless. With the right tones and blooms, anyone can appreciate a tasteful flower arrangement.”

“That’s true I guess.” Jihoon says, biting at his lip absentmindedly. “Maybe I could get some tropical blooms like the ones in the window display there?” he asks, already sorting his options out in his mind.

“Certainly, excellent choice. I’ll just take a few details and arrange a pick up date.”

“I kinda need them for tonight.” Jihoon says hopefully.

“Tonight!” The man gasps, sounding scandalised. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. This is art, art takes time and we have pre-booked orders to fill. Flowers don’t just grow on trees you know.”

“That’s exactly where they grow.” Jihoon feels compelled to point out.

The man looks decidedly unimpressed with the facts. “Fine, is there anything I can buy today?” Jihoon says peevishly.

“You can buy this cactus?” the florist offers, gesturing to a sad lonely potted cactus.

Jihoon makes a face, but he leaves with the cactus. It's not like he felt sorry for the cactus or anything, sitting there all alone....

He will **not** be giving Seungcheol a cactus. He needs another gift and the cactus can be the back-up gift if that fails.

Jihoon is now walking the streets with a cactus, like a man who perhaps has escaped the fiery inferno of his home and the only thing he managed to rescue was his beloved cactus. He'd honestly thought his life couldn't get any weirder. God, only Lee Jihoon would sneak up on normality and punch it in the face. People are giving him strange looks, almost as if they’ve never seen a man carrying a cactus before. Seungcheol will undoubtedly give him a similar look when he presents the cactus.

He really needs another gift.

 _Wine_? Too much choice and he’s not sure of Seungcheol’s preferences.

 _Whiskey_? Hmm—an acquired taste and he doesn’t want to give the impression he’s angling to get Seungcheol drunk.

 _Cupcakes_? _Maybe_? Seungcheol _did_ say he has a sweet tooth. But it doesn’t exactly give off the dating aesthetic, more like the elderly neighbour, grandmotherly aesthetic.

 _A sex toy_? That's more of a second or third date gift. Or _never_ actually.

 _Cookie_ _Bouquets_? Well—that’s interesting. It’s certainly different, certainly manlier than flowers.

Is it better than a cactus though?

Yes. Everything is better than a cactus.

He buys the largest and most elaborate cookie bouquet arrangement they have to offer and hopes he’ll be rewarded for his ingenuity.

It's only as he's leaving the store with his neatly wrapped parcel does he say....."Wait a second....I should have just bought him fucking chocolates!"

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn't start to get really nervous until about 5pm that evening. He rushes back from work, quickly showers and shaves then stands naked in front of the bathroom mirror inspecting his reflection.

He thinks about how to style his hair. He wasn’t planning on doing anything too special—but it’s a date, he should probably try something _different_ and he has time to try out one or two hairstyles out. It's not like he's a girl, he doesn't have to spend time worrying about make-up or if his shoes match his nose.

Because all of his shoes match his nose.

Has his nose always looked like that?

Stop. His nose is fine.

Why the hell is he suddenly worrying about his nose?

He really wants to text Jun. Because Jun would tell him to stop worrying about his nose, with that smug look on his face because Jun’s nose is perfect and he never has these thoughts. He seriously thinks about texting him anyway, making something up, some sort of reason. Or he could just tell him he has a date and fudge the details a little. Just so Jun could ramble on about himself for half an hour, because Jihoon could do with a little of that right now.

But then Jun would tell Soonyoung, and Soonyoung would tell Wonu, and then they’d all show up and harass him probably. Whatever crisis Jihoon's working his way through he's fairly certain he doesn't need an audience for it, or any witnesses.

No, he’ll just style his hair himself and resolve to worry about his nose later.

He grabs some hair gel and does that flicky thing with his fridge. That’s a good look for him.

Nice.

Although, now with the gel in his hair, his fringe looks kinda long. Jihoon just scowls at his limp wet fringe, which is vastly unsatisfying.

Should he have had a haircut?

Well it’s too bloody late now.

He uses extra gel to slick it back because it’s OBVIOUSLY too fucking long and he SHOULD have had a haircut. His fringe is going to probably droop into his eyes when he’s driving and he’ll crash his car or something.

FUCK. Why is he so nervous?

He takes deep calming breaths and sprays some cologne—in his mouth by accident. Eugh! The nozzle was directed the wrong way and now he has some in his eye.

This bathroom is fucking cursed or something. He hightails it out of the bathroom before he locks himself in there by accident or smashes a mirror and gives himself a trillion years bad luck.

He focuses on getting dressed, only he manages to rip a button on his shirt as he nervously buttons the collar. This causes him to second-guess the tie, which eventually leads to re-thinking the entire outfit. He changes twelve times, settling finally on the original outfit with a charcoal shirt instead, and by then he's running about a half hour behind schedule.

He'd timed his arrival so that he'd get there fashionably late, about 10 minutes past, but now he's getting into the realm of rudely late (really only 15 minutes, but he’s anal about punctuality), which is unacceptable.

Seungcheol lives out in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere. Jihoon's GPS gets confused on the drive over, re-calculating repeatedly and then refusing to function all together, so he has to resort to the app on his phone.

By the time he gets there he's a sweaty, panicked mess. He has to park about a mile away from the apartment because most of the street is already filled with cars. He's doubting the tie again, wondering if the cookie bouquet he brought is really appropriate, wondering what the hell he's supposed to say to Seungcheol when he hands them over.

 _‘I bought you a cookie bouquet—because you said you had a sweet tooth and I want to feed you things and pet you’._ He’ll say.

 _‘Please leave now before I call the police.’_ Seungcheol will most likely respond.

He’s talked to himself in this demented fashion for pretty much the entire drive, and it’s not helping settle his nerves. It's too late to back out though, too late to change his clothes or anything else, so all he can really do is hope his night turns out half as well as Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except with less prostitution and a lot less Richard Gere.

He catches a glance of his reflection in a nearby shop window and he's feeling pretty good about his choices until he reaches the elevator and spots an elderly gentleman with a cane hobbling out of the lift. He's a gangly, peculiar, sixty-something year old man, and he's wearing pretty much the same exact outfit as Jihoon.

Jihoon tries to slip past him unnoticed, but the crotchety old man is on him instantly, making awkward jokes about Jihoon's fabulous taste in clothing. Jihoon doesn't want to be rude, but more than that he doesn't want Seungcheol to show up suddenly and to notice that he's wearing the same freaking outfit as a sixty-year old man.

Jihoon looks around for an escape route, barely listening to the mans incoherent babbling.

The girl at the store told him he looked like a hottie. Why didn't she tell him he looked like a senior citizen? Jihoon starts to sweat a little and tugs at his tie. Why the hell did he think dressing like an old man was a good idea? Why does he have to be so lame all the time?

Just as he's starting to regret being born, he feels someone tugging at his elbow.

Mingyu.

"Hey Jihoon! Come on we’re going to be late! Sorry Mr Chan—we need to go." he says, like he knows him. Like they're old friends. He doesn't know Mingyu really- he's seen him around the club, but they've never really talked, never even been introduced and he has no idea how he knows his name. Still, it's an escape and he takes it gratefully. He bows politely to Mr Chan and follows Mingyu into the elevator.

"You looked like you needed to be rescued," Mingyu says, as soon as the elevator doors shut.

“Yeah, thanks.” Jihoon says, grateful to be rid of his geriatric doppelganger.

"Mr Chan will talk your ear off all night if you let him," Mingyu says, which may be true, but it's really not the issue.

"Did you um... did you notice we were dressed the same?" Jihoon asks, not really caring how desperate he sounds. He just wants someone to tell him he was imagining it, or that it's not as bad as he thought.

Mingyu doesn't offer him any reassurances; he looks at him like he's from outer space. “You need to chill dude, you’re here to see Seungcheol Hyung right?” he asks, his voice deceptively casual.

“How did you know?” he blurts out, panicked, before he can stop himself.

“He told me. _We talk.”_ Mingyu says, a little too knowingly for Jihoon's taste.

Jihoon’s stomach plummets into his boots. He swallows something which wants to be a whimper. “Oh?” He hesitates.  

“ _That’s_ _right_. Seungcheol tells me _everything_.” Mingyu says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh.” Jihoon says again, because his voice is working on default in the absence of capable brain cells, and 'Oh' seems to be all he knows how to say.

Again, he starts wondering how much Mingyu knows. Has Seungcheol gone as far as to mention their sessions? Have they been  _discussing_  him? Laughing together about his stupid crush and his fascination with Seungcheol’s nipples?

He knows he has a vested interest in Seungcheol's chest, he’s not ashamed to say. Seungcheol has some of the most sensitive nipples he’s ever seen but surely he’s allowed a degree of confidentiality in these sessions!

That’s not to even mention all the stupid comments he’s made about Seungcheol’s looks, all his whining and pining and general pathetic behaviours.

Seungcheol is the one who encouraged him to be adventurous, told him he was too polite, told him to touch him, asked for more.

What for? So he and Mingyu could sit back and have a good laugh at Jihoon’s expense? It's like entrapment or something.

He looks up at Mingyu and tries to hold his gaze, but he can't. Mingyu’s got such an amused expression on his face that he has to look away. He can't even maintain eye contact with him anymore. His face is hot and his throat is burning.

“Seriously, you need to lose that tie and sweater.” Mingyu pipes up eventually, and it’s such a non-sequitur Jihoon’s left a little in the lurch.

“What?”

“Let me help.” The bouquet in his hands is suddenly gone and Jihoon abruptly finds Mingyu closer than he has any right to be.

Mingyu raises his arms and drags his sweater over his head, throws it over his shoulder and then starts unknotting Jihoon’s tie. Jihoon completely fails to stop an almost random stranger undressing him in an elevator.

He’s pretty sure he should object to some of this—but he doesn’t want to arrive dressed like an old man and Mingyu is very dauntingly tall.

Mingyu’s doing something to his hair now, ruffling it with a pinched face of concentration before he steps back to inspect his efforts.

“There, much hotter.” Mingyu says with an approving nod. Jihoon doesn't believe him. Not even a little bit.

“Thanks. I don’t usually dress like elderly men—I wasn’t sure what look I was going for there.” Jihoon says quietly, taking hold of his bouquet once more.

“You’re nervous.” Mingyu says pointedly. Obviously he’s not a person familiar with social anxiety.

“Me? _Noo_ —I’m totally calm. I’m always this sweaty and jittery.” Jihoon offers, and he really hopes the sarcasm comes across there, because he used a lot of it.

Mingyu cocks his head, eyes amused. “You shouldn’t be. Seungcheol talks about you all the time and we all tease him about it in the changing rooms. He really likes you—“ He stage whispers, even though they’re completely alone in the elevator. “Even if you you’re dressed like our elderly neighbour.”

“Hey.” Jihoon protests and Mingyu grins.

The elevator pings for the 7th floor and the doors swoosh open.

“This is my floor—Seungcheol’s flat is on the 12th floor.” Mingyu says, stepping out of the elevator and pressing the 12th floor button for him. “Good luck handsome.” His says giving him a meaningful head nod.

“Thanks.” Jihoon says, as the doors begin to slide shut.

“Wait!” Mingyu calls out suddenly, propping the door open again with an alarmingly serious expression. “Sorry, before I go. Can I ask how Wonwoo’s doing?”

Jihoon blinks. “Uhh—fine?”

“Is he mad?” Mingyu asks cautiously.

“It’s Wonwoo, he’s always mad.” Jihoon offers with a shrug.

“No, I mean—with me?” Mingyu looks horribly uncomfortable asking, and then suddenly anxious. “He hasn’t called to reschedule and I’m getting worried he’s never coming back.”

Jihoon is officially bewildered now. “Reschedule what?”  

“The private session he won at the auction." Mingyu clarifies, then narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Don’t you know what happened?”

“No. What happened?”

Mingyu sighs heavily. “Well—we didn’t get off to a great start. Basically…..

* * *

 

FLASHBACK

“Hi.” Mingyu greets as Wonwoo enters the Prosecco room.

“Hi.” Wonwoo answers, standing close to the door like he’s about to make a run for it.

Mingyu gestures with a sweeping hand. “Welcome.”

“Welcome.” Wonwoo says, firmly, like he thinks he's scored some sort of point by parroting Mingyu’s words back at him.

Mingyu opens his mouth, and then closes it. Because, ok, Wonwoo is annoyingly hot. But he’s also incredibly annoying when he gets closed off like this and Mingyu’s putting it down to a combination of nerves and his refusal to stop being an awkward douche probably because of the annoying hotness.

Wonwoo’s awkward douche phase is the reason Mingyu hates their private sessions. Because the last five times Wonwoo had walked in wearing his 'Mingyu I have serious urges to fondle you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear' face, there had been more long and awkward periods of silence than actual fondling or talking about anything.

Wonwoo also spends most of his sessions looming over him. Wonwoo shouldn't be allowed to loom over him, he should be the one looming. Mingyu is taller and by that right, _he_ should be doing the looming in every scenario. _He’s_ the loomer. He _owns_ the loominating—no, he's gone too far there. That doesn’t make sense anymore.

He just needs to stay patient and friendly and pray that Wonwoo ends his committed relationship with the stick up his ass.

“Would you like to take a seat?” Mingyu ventures finally, when the silence threatens to become actually physically uncomfortable.

“Would YOU like to take a seat?” Wonwoo asks too, and Mingyu really is starting to wonder if Wonwoo is  _actually_  a crazy person.

Mingyu sighs heavily, this is going to be a long night, he can feel it. “Wonwoo, please tell me you didn’t just pay $3000 dollars to stand awkwardly and parrot everything I say back to me?” He asks, because really sometimes he just doesn't know what Wonwoo wants.

Wonwoo looks tempted, just for a moment, to parrot that sentence back to him. Mingyu decides that if he tries it they're going to have a problem.

“No.” Wonwoo snaps instead, pushing his hands into his pockets so hard he looks like an angry pencil.

“Good, then—sit down!” Mingyu says, then a little more gently. “ _Please_?”

Wonwoo deflates a little. “Okay.” he says, and slumps down into the couch.

“How about we start with some champagne?” Mingyu suggests, then more quietly under his breath. _“God knows I’m going to need it.”_

“Fine.” Wonwoo says, then makes a noise like he's making a huge sacrifice by accepting this.

Their tentative truce lasts until Mingyu opens the champagne bottle.

It’s not quite that simple. Mingyu wrestles with the champagne bottle for a few minutes trying to open it, but the cork just won’t budge. Which _ironically_ , puts a cork in his plan to get Wonwoo drunk and relaxed.

 He tries to ease it out with the cork screw, tries tapping the neck on the table, but it’s stuck. Wonwoo's watching him, with a quiet sort of focus. Mingyu pretends it's not unnerving him.

Eventually he gives up on trying to pop the cork and smacks it down on the table to go fetch another.

Of course, the cork chooses that exact moment to pop out—at full speed— _right_ into Wonwoo’s eye.

“Ow.” Wonwoo yelps, hand coming up to shield his face a second too late.

Mingyu grimaces, rushing over to him. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry.”

“Today was a bad day to wear contact lenses. Ow.”

“Oh god—the cork was really stiff, I didn’t mean to!” Mingyu says, prodding the rapidly swelling lump on Wonwoo’s cheek.

Wonwoo smacks his hand out of the way. Which, ow, really hurts.

“Hey—don’t slap me! I’m just trying to get a better look at it!” Mingyu argues, trying to tilt Wonwoo’s head towards the light.

Wonwoo gingerly opens his eye, it’s completely blood shot. “Ow.”

“Stop saying ow! I said I’m sorry.” Mingyu yells, frustratedly scrubbing his hands through his hair.

Wonwoo glares the glare of death at him. Which shouldn’t be as effective as it is considering how incapacitated his glaring capabilities are at the moment. He’s really great at the whole glaring thing, nobody has the right to look this angrily hot.  

“Oh god! It’s really swelling up—and so fast too! Oh shit! Oh shit!” Mingyu panics, glancing around the room for something to help reduce the rapidly bruising eye. He grabs the bucket of ice resting on the table and scoops some out into a napkin. “Here, put some ice on it. That should help reduce the swelling.”

Wonwoo nods and lets him press the napkin against his eye. He squirms awkwardly for a second as Mingyu grabs the back of his head and presses the napkin firmly on his face. They’re super close now, closer than they’ve ever been.

Mingyu’s looming over him (finally for fucks sake), he's pressed up against Wonwoo's side, thigh to thigh. He's got his hand cradling the back of Wonwoo’s head, they’re practically sharing oxygen.

Mingyu thinks this is one of those pivotal moments where if this was a movie this is absolutely without doubt where they'd kiss.

And now he can't think about anything else. 

He should do it! He should kiss Wonwoo and put an end to all this awkwardness.

He begins to lift the napkin away from Wonwoo’s face, leans in slowly and..

“Wait—the ice—OW!” Wonwoo hisses, pushing him away and making some sort of weird hand flapping gesture, and Mingyu doesn't know - doesn't really want to know what he's trying to indicate with that.

“What?! What!” Mingyu asks, making a noise that is half annoyed and half bewildered, reflexive panic.

“You just got ice in my eye!” Wonwoo whines.  

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I’m such an idiot.” Mingyu groans, spreading his hands innocently.

“Maybe I’ll just go rinse it out under some cold water.” Wonwoo suggests, attempting to stand up from the couch. He has all the coordination of a ball of yarn with legs and Mingyu loops an arm around his waist to guide him to the bathroom.

END OF FLASH BACK.

* * *

 

“Then, as we were walking to the bathroom, he slipped on an ice cube and bashed his head against the table and passed out.” Mingyu shudders like he's trying to shake the memory off of him.

Jihoon is shaking with silent laughter next to him, trying his best to seem sincerely concerned.

“I’m actually first aid trained, but I’ve never had to administer first aid under that kinda pressure before. I didn’t know what I was thinking, but CPR seemed like a good idea at the time. I was in the middle of giving him 30 chest compressions and mouth to mouth when he came to. I think, I think he thought I was making out with his unconscious body.” Mingyu explains dejectedly.

There's absolutely no way Jihoon isn't going to laugh at that. One moment he's trying to work through surprise and the next—he’s laughing his head off.

Mingyu sighs. "It's not funny."

Jihoon's making noises he's fairly sure are unattractive and he doesn't even care. He takes a breath and then loses it again straight away and Mingyu's expression of offended irritation just makes it  _worse._

Mingyu glares at him. “Please stop laughing.”

Jihoon makes a graceless snorting noise. “You’re right, that story’s not hilarious at all.” he says, though with no small amount of sarcasm. He has to stop talking but he's still laughing. Because this is going to be funny forever.  _Forever._

Mingyu raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “I can’t believe he didn’t say anything to you. Do you think he’s going to sue me?”

“What? No. It’s Wonu—he’s—he’s very fond of you.” Jihoon says, trying not to give too much away.

Mingyu’s eyebrows wriggle around and his mouth slants, like he’s politely pretending to consider Jihoon’s opinion but not-so-secretly dismissing it as complete twaddle. “I don’t believe that for a second.

“He is, he’s just—a little stiff around people he likes. He’s the same with me and I’ve known him for 5 years.” Jihoon offers.

Mingyu frowns confusion but seems to take the suggestion on board. Though it's clear he's still waiting for some sort of clarification, and seriously Jihoon's kind of disturbed by the idea that anything he has to say about this might be taken as gospel. “I’m sure he’ll be contacting you to reschedule, don’t worry.”

* * *

When Jihoon arrives at Seungcheol’s door, his face feels hot, a combination of adrenaline and feeling somewhat nervous and fluttery. It’s just a casual date, he reminds himself, and he can totally do that – but at the same time it’s  _Seungcheol_ , it’s Seungcheol behind this door and they have a history and Seungcheol likes him a lot apparently and talks about him with his stripper friends and may or may not have shared intimate jerking off details with them.

What if he fucks this up?

He’s never been so shy and stupid about going after someone he wanted before, and there’s no reason for him to be this way now. Seungcheol wants him. Seungcheol kissed him first and Seungcheol touched his dick and Seungcheol was covered in his cum not more than four days ago.

And now he’s getting hard just remembering that.

Inappropriate erection, he tells his body firmly.

_Inappropriate time for a god damn erection._

He's incredibly tempted to wuss out and run back to the car, or better yet, buy a ticket off this planet. That would be pathetic, though. Cowardly, and Jihoon's not a coward. He may be a lot of things- irritable, awkward, obsessive and a bit of a nerd- but he is  _not_  a coward.

He stands there for a minute, wrestling with his indecision, but before long the choice is taken away from him when the door swings open.

"Uhh--Hello."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) So an actual date takes place next....I perhaps an enjoying the lead up to the date too much XD  
> 2) Here is how I imagine Jihoon in this story.....hooott.  
> [Jihoon](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/874753910778540032/photo/1)  
> 3) I think Seungcheol would appreciate a cookie bouquet :) I know I would!  
> 4) Hope you enjoy reading!


	10. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date finally, and then some.

“Hi.” Jihoon gulps, as the door swings open.

Standing there is a slim, young man with a jacket thrown over his arm.

Several tense seconds pass before a hint of recognition sparks, and the man’s face lights up like an arcade. “You must be Jihoon!” he says pleasantly, extending a hand.

“I am.” Jihoon acknowledges, shaking his hand. “You must be Seungcheol’s housemate.”

“Yes, I’m Jisoo! Come on in. I was hoping to meet you before I left. Seungcheol’s told me so much about you.” He says, his smile getting too big too fast.

Jihoon grunts an affirmative and steps into the apartment. “Good things I hope.” He says with a smile.

Jisoo nods winsomely. “Very good things. I was beginning to think he made you up.”

As Jisoo closes the door behind him, Jihoon looks around the room, tapping the fingers of his free hand rapidly against his thigh.

The apartment is small but open planned; a large kitchen dominates the living area, with a small dining table in one corner and a seating area in the other. It’s a cosy affair, filled with mismatched furniture, eclectic displays of framed photographs and stacks of books. 

Seungcheol appears, looking breathless and excited and—devastatingly gorgeous in a pair of black slacks and a deeply rich dark-blue dress shirt that brings out his eyes in the worst ways. His hair is curling loose and soft over his brow and Jihoon wants to push him backward into the room and rip those clothes off his body.

Seungcheol smirks at him, as if reading his thoughts, and rakes his eyes up and down Jihoon’s frame.

“ _Jihoon_.” Seungcheol says, so warm, so wondrous, and oh, the rush those two syllables send through Jihoon's whole body is  _electric_.

For what may very well be an hour, they stand there staring at each other silently. Jihoon’s not sure if they’re supposed to kiss, hug, wrestle, high five, pat each other on the back?

He lets himself be distracted once again by how handsome Seungcheol is. There are certain aspects of Seungcheol’s appearance that are more typically feminine, but still somehow all coalesce into something striking and dangerous in him. Jihoon opens his mouth to say something. He wants to tell Seungcheol he looks nice, _because he does._

It's pretty fair to say that Seungcheol looks nice all the time; the kind of guy who'd make socks with sandals appealing. He could probably wear Crocs on a fucking runway and own it, whether he wanted to or not.

But tonight he looks _especially_ nice, like maybe he was thinking about looking nice, and not just relying on his natural genetic hotness.

Jisoo—who has been observing this silent exchange with narrowed eyes—clears his throat pointedly and they both snap out of their gawking trance. “If you two are done staring at each other…” he drawls then snickers.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry Jihoon, Jisoo isn’t staying. He was _meant_ to be gone by now but he loves to interfere when he’s not wanted and just hung around to meet you.” Seungcheol says with exasperated fondness.

“And helping him pick outfits.” Jisoo butts in. “He only changed his outfit _five hundred_ times.” He snickers out of the corner of his mouth.

Seungcheol pouts. “Dammit Jisoo, will you just go!” He sounds almost petulant, and in spite of himself, Jihoon ducks his head and grins.

“What’s the rush?” Jisoo says, with a good-natured smirk. “I don’t have to go right away, I can have a drink with you guys, get to know Jihoon a little. You wouldn’t mind would you Jihoon?”

Jihoon cannot think of anything he wants to do less, but considering the circumstances he doesn't have much choice “Of course not.” He says, smiling as sincerely as he can. His heartbeat is about twenty percent fear and eighty percent relief at this point.

“Well, I mind! Don’t you have somewhere to be right now?” Seungcheol points out sourly.

Jisoo ignores him in favour of guiding Jihoon further into the apartment with a gallant wave of the hand.

“So, a lawyer huh?” Jisoo starts. “My parents wanted me to go into law school. And I almost went along with it, before I chose to study dance instead.”

Jihoon doesn’t exactly see how the one connects to the other, but he keeps that thought to himself. “Wow, so you’re an exotic dancer too.” He says. He's not sure whether he makes it a question or not. He definitely makes it surprised.

Mingyu lives in this apartment block too and he’s a stripper.

He wonders if Mingyu’s housemate is also a stripper.

Perhaps the entire apartment block catered _primarily_ to members of the stripping profession.

Does that mean that Old Man Chan is _also_ a stripper?

Why did his brain have to go there? _Oh god._

“No, I’m with the Korean National ballet.” Jisoo declares proudly, before his eyes widen a fraction and he blinks at Jihoon, tilting his head in confusion. “ _Wait_ —did you say exotic dancer?” He gasps.

Jihoon blinks at him, then looks over at Seungcheol, who’s expression is weirdly intense all of a sudden.

Jihoon opens his mouth to say ‘Yeah, like Seungcheol’, when out of Jisoo's line of vision, Seungcheol waves his arms and mouths ‘ _Don’t!’_

Jihoon's eyes widen. “Uhhm.”

Jisoo narrows his eyes briefly in confusion. “You said, exotic dancer too. Who’s an exotic dancer?” he asks while Seungcheol flails his arms dramatically behind his back. When Jisoo turns to look at him, Seungcheol’s already shrugging his shoulders and cracking out the innocent and bewildered look, and he's  _really_  good at it.

Then Jisoo turns back around to face him and Seungcheol shoots a helpless, apologetic glance in Jihoon’s direction and that’s when he knows for sure. 

_Seungcheol’s housemate doesn’t know he’s a stripper._

Great.

Jihoon isn't sure if he wants to freak out more or less with that piece of information. He feels a powerful need to be on the other side of the door.

The cats out of the bag now and it’s his fault.

Actually, it’s more like 50% his fault and 50% Seungcheol’s for not telling him to keep his mouth shut beforehand. Double actually— _why is this his fault at all?_

Jisoo’s looking at him now, all questioning eyebrows. He should just explain himself, but Seungcheol’s doing the puppy eyed, lost dog look over Jisoo’s shoulder and in a moment of inappropriately-timed dishonesty, Jihoon finds himself saying, “I am.”

“ _What_?” Jisoo and Seungcheol echo in the same second.

“You’re an exotic dancer?” Jisoo says, his voice doesn't even sound half convinced and perhaps a little critical.

Jihoon’s instinctive reaction is obviously to deny it. He thinks now is a good time to back track, but Seungcheol’s eyes are wide like saucers, terrified and utterly panicked, and really, it's a good thing Jihoon likes him so much.

“Yes— **I am** an exotic dancer.” Jihoon insists, _horrifyingly_.

“Oh my god,” Jisoo gawks, looking understandably stupefied. Seungcheol looks flushed but relieved.

Jisoo blinks, and Jihoon spends an uncomfortable moment standing in the middle of the apartment as Jisoo sizes him up from the top of his head down to his shoes, a slow, calculated examination. Jihoon swallows and stands perfectly still, not letting himself waver.

Then Jisoo’s forehead creases, mouth going soft - and then suddenly firm, like he's steeling himself for something condemnatory. But the expression on his face switches to fascinated. “That’s— _amazing_!” He says.

“It is?” Jihoon asks in surprise, then- “Yes, it is. Thank you. I know.” He adds with a magnanimous nod, pretending he hasn't just completely failed at subtlety.

“Seungcheol, you didn’t tell me Jihoon was an exotic dancer on the side?” Jisoo grins, nudging Seungcheol playfully in the ribs.

Seungcheol chuckles sheepishly, plays along, shrugging his shoulders as though this is new information. “Errrr….”

With Seungcheol busy erring into the night, Jihoon isn't sure if this is his cue to leave or think up a speech or strip naked and start dancing to prove something. He's good at talking his way into and out of things, but he’s grasping at straws trying to determine which tactic is appropriate here.

“That’s because I asked him not to.” Jihoon interjects smoothly, drawing Jisoo’s attention from an increasingly nervous Seungcheol. “I’m a private person usually, the dancing is something I just do as a hobby. I’m a little stiff and awkward as Jihoon, but I take on a different persona when I’m— _riding the pole.”_ Jihoon intones, and fuck all if his ears don’t feel like they’re about to burn their way right off his head.

“Oh, is that like an alter ego you adopt on stage? Do you have a stage name?” Jisoo asks curiously.

This isn’t a conversation Jihoon ever thought he’d be having, but what the hell, he’s prattled through far worse. “Yes—an alter ego. I call myself,” He pauses, both for dramatic effect and the fact that he has to come up with a fake stage name on the spot.

He glances down at the package in his hands and comes up with. _“Cookie Bouquet.”_

As stage names go, it’s fucking ridiculous. But Seungcheol looks almost approving, which is bizarre and relieving at the same time.

Jisoo too, looks frighteningly interested. “Cookie Bouquet?”

“Yup. That’s my stage name. _Cookie_ — _Bouquet_.” Jihoon says, flushing down the back of his neck. 

Jisoo makes a very quiet noise of surprise, he seems to approve of that name, which may be the most unintentionally hilarious thing ever. “It _does_ sound like a stripper’s name.” He ponders out loud.

Seungcheol snickers into his palm. Jihoon’s starting to suspect he’s enjoying this far too much. “Definitely. I can hear it now—Next to take the stage, make it rain for Cookie Bouquet.” Seungcheol fake announces, then cheers, then coughs. “Not that I know what the inside of strip club is like or anything.” He mumbles.

“That’s so interesting Jihoon. Lawyer by day, stripper by night. I’m sure you have a busy schedule, how do you do it?” Jisoo asks.

“How do I **not** do it.” Jihoon says, waving a hand carelessly and drawing Jisoo’s attention away from Seungcheol again. “It’s a really great way to de-stress. When I’m on that stage— _stripping_ —riding the pole, I can feel all my troubles melting away. Or you could say they _crumble_ away— _like a cookie.”_ says Jihoon, because he's not always so great at filtering his ridiculous thoughts in times of stress.

But Jisoo is nodding like that actually made fucking sense. “And it keeps you in shape I bet, you don’t get that figure by sitting behind a desk all day.” He compliments, not reacting to Seungcheol’s unimpressed glare.

“Seriously?” Jihoon sounds more surprised than he means to. He glances down to inspect himself. All that effort in the gym must be paying off. “Thanks.”

“I think it’s time you left now, Jisoo.” Seungcheol grumbles, practically shoving the man towards the door.

“But I want to learn more about Jihoon and his interesting life!” Jisoo whines as he’s handed his jacket and shoved unceremoniously out of the door.

“Yeah, well get in line. I get to know him first.”

* * *

 

Seungcheol locks and bolts the chain, groans and falls back against the door. “I’m sorry about that.” He says, a very faint flush coming to his cheeks.

Jihoon drops his voice and chances a stealthy look around, “Why doesn’t your housemate know you’re a stripper?”

“It’s a long story.” Seungcheol whispers back, his eyes flicking back up to Jihoon’s with something that looks like it could be guilt.

“Start explaining then, I didn’t just become the artist formerly known as cookie bouquet for no reason.” He hisses, gesturing vaguely at the front door Jisoo was forced out of.

“That’s an awesome stripper name by the way, how did you come up with that? You’re such a good liar! It totally could pass for a stripper name.” Seungcheol tries to tease, but this time Jihoon recognizes the dimpled smile as a distraction ploy and stays his course.

“Don’t deflect!” Jihoon hisses sternly. “And why are we whispering?”

“I don’t know you started it.” Seungcheol says, still whispering.

“We should stop whispering now.” Jihoon suggests, not quite whispering, but it’s a close thing.

“Okay.” Seungcheol whispers, then giggles and that and the ridiculousness of the entire situation pretty much sets Jihoon’s laughter off.

They both double over in hysterics.

Jihoon misses laughing like this. Laughing until it hurts. It soothes the anxious butterflies in his stomach, so he hangs onto it for as long as he can. And it’s all right because Seungcheol’s laughing too, leaning into him, with one lovely strong hand cuffed tightly round Jihoon’s shoulder as though to keep track of him.

Eventually Jihoon straightens himself and huffs something that might be the last of it. Save for a grin that just won't quit. “So, why does Jisoo not know?” he asks breathlessly.

“I was looking for a place to rent and I really liked this apartment. But Jisoo had all these strict conditions about who he would sub-let to. Being an exotic dancer doesn’t exactly come with a wholesome reputation and I’d been turned away from a lot of listings because of my job. I was worried if he knew I was a stripper he wouldn’t let me rent.” Seungcheol explains. He has a way of making it not sound half as crazy as it should.

“How long have you lived with him?” Jihoon asks.

“Nearly six years.”

“What the fuck, how on earth did he not figure it out in all that time?” Jihoon asks, somehow circling back to the whispering.

Whispering, like laughter it seems, is very infectious. And Seungcheol replies in an equally low whisper. “I’m very— _discreet_.”

Jihoon sighs and shakes his head. “What _does_ he think you work as?”

Seungcheol fixedly begins picking at his cuff. “Uhmm.”

When he trails off, Jihoon looks at him expectantly, waving his hand in a circular motion. “Use your words _.”_

Seungcheol hesitates, not meeting his eyes.  “I can’t tell you. You’ll laugh at me.”

Gently, Jihoon tips Seungcheol’s chin up with two fingers. “Maybe I will, but you owe me an explanation at least. Now, tell cookie bouquet the truth.”

Seungcheol grins and ducks his head again. _“A fhmmm.”_ He whispers, very, very quietly.

“What? Speak up.”

“A fhmmsnn.” He mumbles deliberately.

 _“Cheol.”_ Jihoon intones sternly.

Seungcheol’s face falls into a rather sulky expression “A fireman.” He says sheepishly. “He found my fireman’s helmet from a routine I did. I made up a story about being a volunteer fireman and he believed it, so I kinda just rolled with it.”

Jihoon levels him a disapproving look. “That’s— _dangerous_ Seungcheol. What if there’s a fire and he expects you to act accordingly?”

Seungcheol shrugs affably. He looks less embarrassed now, more resigned to the finality of Jihoon’s judgement. “It’s never happened—but he _does_ make me rescue cats out of trees all the fucking time.”

They fall into laughter again which quickly dissolves as they look at one another. Seungcheol raises his hand to Jihoon’s shoulder, stroking gently. “I’m sorry you had to pretend to be cookie bouquet the pole dancer, but thanks for lying for me.” He doesn’t sound very sorry. He sounds teasing, maybe flirtatious.

“It’s cool. It was funny. You should tell him though, I’m sure he wouldn’t kick you out. If he’s lived with you for six years—you’ve grown on him by now and he’s too fond of you. Besides, be seemed to handle _me_ being a stripper really well.”

Seungcheol chuckles. “Yeah, I was surprised. I’ve always thought he would be more _conservative._ Gotta give him credit for handling that so well. He actually seemed interested in the whole thing.”

“I hope he doesn’t ask for a demonstration though! The game would be up for sure. I’d fail spectacularly at that.” Jihoon laughs.

“Oh--I dunno about that." Seungcheol says, reaching over to thumb the edge of Jihoon's shirt collar. His eyes shift to Jihoon's, gaze steady and loaded with heat when he says, "Stripping is all about stage presence and distracting your audience. I think you’d look really hot without any clothes on.” He says. The words tumble out around a smile, and there's a dirty-quick push of tongue against his upper lip before he blushes a fierce red.

“Fuck.” Jihoon manages, because he's kind of stunned by that. He doesn't know what else to say.

Seungcheol clears is throat and tilts his head towards the package in Jihoon’s hands. “What’s that?” He asks quietly into the silence, because awkward subject changes are clearly not only Jihoon's thing. 

“Uhh these? Oh—they’re for you.” Jihoon says, passing the parcel over.

Seungcheol takes it with a sort of bewildered confusion that seems to say no one's ever bought him anything before. “Did you buy me flowers?” He beams, bright-eyed and cherry-cheeked.

“No, they’re not flowers!” Jihoon says hurriedly.

_Oh shit, I should have bought him flowers! This was a terrible idea!_

Seungcheol gasps quietly as he unwraps the tissue paper. It could be a gasp of disgust!

Jihoon winces. “Sorry—I thought you’d like them. Now I realise how lame it is. I wanted to-”

“Shut up.” Seungcheol says at last, interrupting his paranoid stream of rambling. Jihoon looks up at him, and his mouth looks somewhere between amused and...affectionate maybe? It's an amazing expression. Jihoon could take Seungcheol looking at him like that all the time. “I love them.”

“Good. Great. Awesome.” Jihoon says awkwardly.

Then he decides to blurt out, “I’m wearing the same clothes as Mr Chan,” for no apparent reason. He’s not sure why he feels the need to keep pointing it out to people, except that maybe sometimes it’s better to announce these things yourself, rather than have everyone else snickering about them behind your back.

“You what?” Seungcheol says.

“I bumped into your elderly neighbour on the way up here. We were wearing the exact same thing. It was humiliating. Then I bumped into Mingyu and he told me to change. I almost ran away.” He admits in a rush.

Seungcheol smiles until the corners of his eyes crease. “Oh, come on. Mingyu told you to change? That's harsh. It can’t be that bad.”

“I’m was wearing the same outfit as a senior citizen,” Jihoon says, woefully, laughing at himself a bit.

“Well, so what?” Seungcheol huffs audibly, voice overflowing with sympathy. “Mr Chan’s very well dressed, typically.”

Seungcheol seems genuinely baffled about why this whole situation might be mortifying for someone, and it makes Jihoon feel more foolish about being upset than he felt about the stupid clothes in the first place. Maybe it’s not as terrible as he thought. Who really cares anyway?

“So am I dressed too old, or is he dressed too young?” he asks, philosophically.

“Neither,” Seungcheol answers. “Unless, well... were his trousers tight as yours?”

Oh God. Oh  _God_ , Seungcheol is talking about his trousers. Seungcheol noticed his trousers. Jihoon feels a flush over his entire body. He’s not sure if Seungcheol is teasing him, making fun of his tight pants or if it's some awkward attempt at flirting or  _what_ , but whatever it is, he noticed. That has to mean something.

“I, uh... didn’t really look,” Jihoon says, which is true. He noticed the colour, not the cut. He doesn’t go around looking at how tight 60 year old men are wearing their pants.

“Anyway. I think you look hot.” Seungcheol reassures, taking Jihoon's hand and dragging him into the kitchen area.

* * *

 

Jihoon keeps Seungcheol company in the kitchen while he puts some finishing touches on dinner.  He perches atop one of the high stools at the breakfast bar as Seungcheol stirs, tastes and adjusts seasoning to something over the hob.

"Red or white?" Seungcheol asks, holding up two bottles of wine.

"Whatever you're having." Jihoon says and he watches Seungcheol uncork a bottle of red.

“I just wanted you to know, I appreciate you inviting me over. I mean—I wouldn’t have invited me over if I was in your place.” Jihoon admits woefully.

“What? Why?” Seungcheol laughs, handing Jihoon a glass.

Jihoon pauses, takes a sip of his wine, trying to figure out how to phrase his words. “That message I sent you—was a little intense and weird. I honestly wasn’t expecting a reply because that wasn’t the message I was planning on sending originally.”

“I didn’t think it was weird. I thought it was sweet—and sincere…and awkward. Like you.” Seungcheol says with a fond smirk.

Jihoon smiles, feeling more relaxed. “Thanks. Honestly, I had typed out several drafts—got really frustrated, then my boss interrupted me and I accidentally clicked send. When I realised I’d sent it...I died.” He groans at the memory.

He hears something like a snort from Seungcheol, or muffled laughter, and turns to him suspiciously.

Seungcheol ducks out the line of sight covering a smile with one hand, but Jihoon stays rooted to the spot, frowning and openly shaking his head.

“Something funny Seungcheol?” Jihoon says, smiling as he watches Seungcheol open the fridge door, just to hide behind it and giggle.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can't help it.” Seungcheol proclaims, reappearing and clearly still fending off giggles. “Sorry, just—It's so cute. I can picture you trying to write that message out, and how you freaked out after. It’s just, so—funny.”

Jihoon gives him a narrow-eyed scowl worthy of Wonwoo himself, but it does nothing to dim Seungcheol’s amusement.  “It was a very distressing time in my life, but I’m glad my misery amuses you.”

“I bet you were so red in the face. Probably glaring at your phone.” Seungcheol chokes out through his laughter.

Jihoon shakes his head tries to frown, but Seungcheol’s giggling is too infectious.

He finds himself pushing at Seungcheol’s shoulder, laughing too. His hands linger a second longer than necessary, grazing just beneath Seungcheol’s bicep. His head feels heavy with something all too familiar around Seungcheol: lust.

He clears his throat and primly straightens his cuffs. “You know Seungcheol, one of these days—you’ll do something super embarrassing too, and I’ll be there.”

“To what? Do something even more embarrassing and beat me?” Seungcheol says, wiping a tear from his eyes.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “ _Probably_.” He drawls, taking a nonchalant sip of his wine.

Watching Seungcheol laugh is so rewarding. He almost wants to do stupid, embarrassing things all the time. _Almost_.

“Well, I’m glad you asked me out." Seungcheol says, looking him straight in the eye. "After our session—I wasn’t sure if I should ask you or wait for you to ask. I was kinda freaking out about that if I’m being honest. So your message made me really happy.” Seungcheol admits bashfully.

Jihoon blames the wine for the heat creeping up his neck.

* * *

 

Jihoon’s relieved to find that Seungcheol’s cooked his favourite dish, Spaghetti Bolognese. Which he’s pretty sure goes against one of the cardinal rules of dating, and he just knows there’s no way he can finish his plate without getting sauce all over his face.

“I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.” Jihoon says, folding his napkin on his lap.

Seungcheol just gives him a grin and opens his mouth round his own fork, cheeks hollowing out, and it's kind of amazing how Seungcheol can make slurping spaghetti look sexy and oddly erotic at the same time. If he could teach people how to do that he'd probably make millions. It's pretty damn distracting so Jihoon forces himself to stop watching it.

“You’re delicious. “Jihoon says impulsively, since watching Seungcheol’s mouth slurping up spaghetti has clearly made him lose his mind.

Seungcheol blinks and actually bats his eyelashes at him, his lashes of course, are just as absurdly attractive as the rest of him. “Huh?”

“This is delicious.” Jihoon corrects quickly.

“I know, right.” Seungcheol says, and Jihoon’s not sure why it comes out sounding surprised.

“It’s my favourite dish actually. And I don’t know a lot of people who can make it the way I like it. Soonyoung makes it with waay to much sauce. Wonwoo is super fucking stingy with meat. Jun adds random ass vegetables to it. This is—like authentic shit right here. It might be the best I’ve ever had.”

Seungcheol freezes, fork hovering halfway between his plate and his lips. He looks pained for a moment, “You really like it?” He asks carefully, dabbing a smudge of sauce from his lower lip with his napkin. Jihoon tries and fails not to feel jealous of a napkin.

“Yeah.” Jihoon nods. “What’s wrong?”

Seungcheol lets off a disappointed sigh and deftly spins a few strands of pasta around his fork. “Can I be honest with you Jihoon? I feel like I can be honest with you and you won't judge me too harshly.”

 _“Okay.”_ Jihoon says slowly.

“I didn’t cook this.” Seungcheol admits with a scrunched look on his face.

“What?” Jihoon replies, a little bemused. He shakes his head, mock affronted and lets his voice harden even though he isn’t angry. “Then who did?”

He almost breaks character when Seungcheol winces at the hard edge in his tone. 

“Mingyu cooked it.” Seungcheol mumbles, looking super sad about the whole deception.

Jihoon, cause he's a dick, and because he delights in Seungcheol's sulkiness, pretends to be very disappointed about this. “That’s—cheating you big McCheater.” He reprimands, waggling a finger at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol actually pouts.

He’s so visibly hurt, it’s adorable and Jihoon’s going to strain something trying not to laugh. “Here I was, waxing lyrical about your cooking and it’s Mingyu I should be complementing. Maybe I’ll just ask Mingyu on a date instead.” He teases.

Seungcheol continues to act like a five-year-old child. He lets his cutlery fall to the table in a dramatic show of petulance, slumps his shoulders as he drops his head and sulks.

Jihoon feels a surge of affection for him. He grins into his palm for a moment, then bumps his knee against Seungcheol’s leg under the table. “Alright, don’t sulk. I’m not mad. Just tell me why you’re a big Mc Cheater. Why invite me for dinner if you can’t cook silly?” he asks indulgently.

“I can cook! It’s just that Mingyu’s a really **good** cook and I wanted to impress you. I was terrified about fucking dinner up. I spent most of the last two days freaking out about burning it, or over seasoning or giving you food poisoning, I couldn’t focus.” Seungcheol whines.

It was the most charmingly matter-of-fact admission of insecurity Jihoon has ever heard and he can’t even stop snorting long enough to say so. “Yanno. You could have just—not said anything. I wouldn’t have known.”

Seungcheol crinkles up his nose and Jihoon can’t help but chuckle. “You would have found out eventually. You’re a super smart lawyer and I didn’t want you to build up some unrealistic expectation that I’m some kind of—cooking god. I wanted to be honest with you, after you were honest with me.”

Jihoon hums, refusing to voice his internal glee to this statement. “Well, I appreciate the honesty Seungcheol. But Just so you know—you could have cooked anything and I would have liked it. You could have served me raw chicken and I would have eaten it.”

Seungcheol blushes, which just makes Jihoon feel bolder.

He takes a long sip of wine before placing his glass down. “It’s good that you didn’t cook this. I’m actually, actually a little relieved.” He falters when Seungcheol blinks at him, utterly confused. 

“Why’s that?”

“I was beginning to think you were too perfect to be real.” Jihoon says teasingly. Which, in turn, just has Seungcheol smiling at him with dimples, like he honestly has no idea just how devastating that is.

He doesn’t make a show of it, but Jihoon can tell that Seungcheol’s ecstatic and resolves to throw more compliments his way on a regular basis. Anything to see that smile and that blush.

* * *

 

Usually people talk about their jobs on a first date, a topic which most people always fall into with intensity. Jihoon doesn’t want to bore Seungcheol with stories about his work, no matter how genuinely curious he seems. Being a corporate lawyer _is_ exciting, but only for other corporate lawyers.

So, they keep conversation light and talk about their respective hobbies and interests, and for once Jihoon doesn’t have to feign interest.

If Jihoon is honest with himself, he just enjoys the sound of Seungcheol’s voice, his bright eyed enthusiasm, his animated hand gestures. The topic is irrelevant. He hasn’t let himself feel this way in a long time and now he’s slowly peeling down the walls.

“So—why stripping?” Jihoon’s not sure why he brings it up; isn’t really thinking, to be honest.

There’s so much more stuff Jihoon would like to know. He wonders when Seungcheol first moved to the city- did he come here as a child, with his whole family, or was it later? Did he move here for the job, or for some other reason? Does he ever get homesick? Or lonely?

But, it took him eons to trust himself interacting with Seungcheol outside of the club at all, he doesn’t want to delve into a topic that might ruin everything. Better stick to familiar territory.

Seungcheol smirks, shrugs, and reaches across the table to refill Jihoon’s wineglass. “I was just meant to be a part time job, while I went for auditions. Then I got—good at it I guess. I was raking so much money in tips and having a great social life I thought I could make a career out of it while I was young.”

Jihoon looks up from his plate. “Auditions?”

“Yeah—I wanted to be an actor. _That_ didn’t work out. Admittedly, I was naïve to think it would.” Seungcheol says decisively.

He really can’t blame Seungcheol for feeling that way. Making it in the world of acting can be a very fickle thing.

“So you’ve changed your aspiration entirely? Or are you planning on giving the acting gig another go down the line.” Jihoon asks mildly. From the furrow creasing his brow, Jihoon has a gut feeling this isn’t the first time Seungcheol's had this conversation.

Seungcheol sighs. “No, I pretty much drained that well. I’m missing a certain ‘something’, I've been told over and over again. I went to hundreds of auditions in the first year I came to the city. Turned away for a lot of them before I could even read my lines. The only acting job my agent could get me was for— _hardcore porn.”_

Jihoon’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

Seungcheol—filming hardcore gay porn. He can’t imagine it.

No, scrap that, Jihoon can full well  _imagine_  it, though he doesn't think it particularly likely. It's  _not_  imagining it, at this point, that's becoming difficult.

Seungcheol shakes his head, a somewhat sad smile playing at his lips. “Apparently, I have the lips and ass for it. At the time I was getting really low and cash and just went along to the studio, just to see yanno. The director met me and offered to hire me on the spot if I….demonstrated how talented I was with my mouth.”

Jihoon may need GPS to find his eyebrows now. He doesn’t know where they are, but they’re definitely not on his face anymore.

Seungcheol blushes and clears his throat, the tips of his ears are bright red now but he’s still maintaining eye contact, which Jihoon finds reassuring. If there was a bad end to this story, surely he would be looking away by now.

“What—what did you do?” Jihoon asks, trying to seem unconcerned even as his heart thumps worriedly, unsure of where Seungcheol’s story is headed.

“I punched him in the face.” Seungcheol says proudly, then his face falls a tad.“But that just…turned him on more and he offered me the job anyway.”

If Jihoon were any less poised than he is, he would be dropping his fork, overturning his wineglass, and staring like a slack-jawed fool. He limits himself to the slack-jawed staring.

“Did you take it?” he asks, because it’s impossible not to.

 _Did you make a movie? Where is it? I must see it!_ _I need to watch you sucking cock!_ —Jihoon resists the urge to say.

Seungcheol bristles, looking adorably affronted. “Of course not!”

Jihoon shrugs, tears up the remnants of his delicacy and scatters it to the four winds. “Seungcheol—are you being honest here? Cause I don’t care if you did do porn. I’d just like a heads up if a few months down the line, I’m expected to pretend to be a porn star when you need an alibi after Jisoo finds your porn tape.”

Seungcheol’s laugh is unexpected, a sudden blaze of summer in the midst of a mild day. “Noohh.” Seungcheol laughs. “I would never do porn. I did think about accepting the offer, because I was really strapped for cash. But then I was out with a friend one night and ended up at Hannie’s club, had a little too much to drink and ended up dancing on one of the podiums. I woke up really hungover the next day with fistfuls of money in my pants. I was very confused. Then I got a call from Hannie and--”

“Let me guess, he hired you on the spot.” Jihoon interrupts.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Actually—he made me come back and audition. Hannie takes the stripping business super seriously. He wanted references, themes and a choreography plan. It was the hardest audition I ever went to.” Seungcheol laughs, swirling the wine in his glass. “I nailed it though. And like I said—thought it was going to be temporary so, I never bothered telling my family.”

Jihoon sets his jaw, unsure of what to say. He searches Seungcheol’s expression, finds carefully concealed guilt. “Your parents don’t know you’re a stripper? That’s not going to end well Seungcheol.” he says with finality.

“I know.” Seungcheol groans into his palm. “How do you tell your parents that you moved to the city and became an exotic dancer? They were disappointed enough when I decided to peruse acting, stripping is a whole new level of disappointment. I might as well just do porn or just prostitute myself they’d say. I know stripping might not seem very different to porn—It is. I’ve never slept with a client. Ever. Well— _except..._.”

Jihoon tries not to flail in anticipation. He really needs to hear the end of that sentence. “Except?”

Seungcheol drags his eyes up to Jihoon’s face, “You—hopefully.”

Images flow through Jihoon’s mind, forming and merging like the contents of a rapidly twisting kaleidoscope. Seungcheol lying on a bed, Seungcheol spread out for him; hard cock, flushed and leaking against his stomach, easing two fingers into himself and begging for Jihoon’s cock.

Jihoon fold his napkin, picks up his empty glass, then calmly sets it back down again. “You can't just say things like that to me Seungcheol and expect me not to die.”

Seungcheol’s face softens. “Sorry.”

There is a period of reflective quiet, while Seungcheol clears the table and tops up their wine. He seems quietly anxious about something and when he takes his seat again, he’s wringing his hands around his napkin.

Jihoon finds himself shifting only his eyes, trying to look at Seungcheol inconspicuously. Seungcheol looks...ponderous and Jihoon wonders what on earth is going on in his brain. He doesn’t have to wonder long. “It must seem so—silly to you. You’re accomplishing things and—I’m making a career out of stripping.”

Jihoon waits for a beat, then reaches over and covers Seungcheol’s fidgeting hands with one of his own.

He takes a moment to remind himself that saying anything less than positive to Seungcheol would be roughly equivalent to shooting himself in the dick.

“No—who am I to judge. You enjoy your job, you earn a living, you’re not hurting anyone. And you make lots of people happy. That’s more than I can say for my job.” He finishes, giving Seungcheol hands a gentle squeeze.

He’s proud to note the tension has drained from Seungcheol’s shoulders, and his cheeks are pinker than before.

“Thanks.” Seungcheol says quietly, turning his hand under Jihoon’s palm and interlacing their fingers. “Dessert still needs to chill more, so…” He trails off.

“So?” Jihoon prompts.

“So, do you—Do you want to go to my room and make out?” Seungcheol asks hopefully, touching the corner of Jihoon’s mouth with the faintest hint of pressure, eyes twinkling.

Jihoon tries to hide a grin and fails abysmally. “Yes. Yes I do.”

* * *

 

The thing about Seungcheol is that Jihoon had always assumed being attracted to someone — being  _really_  attracted to them — meant wanting to rip their clothes off and fuck them on the nearest available surface.

For a long time, that is _exactly_ what he wanted with Seungcheol.

The difference is that although Seungcheol still makes Jihoon cross-eyed with arousal, although Jihoon wants to fuck him harder than he’s ever fucked anyone, there isn’t that same sense of urgency. As Seungcheol leads Jihoon to his bedroom, Jihoon feels strangely patient, almost serene. At the same time that he’s desperate to touch and be touched, he feels like they have all the time in the world. 

Jihoon freezes at the doorway to Seungcheol’s bedroom. He lifts an eyebrow, his head whirling, and he asks. “You have a stripper pole in your bedroom?”

“Yes. I use it to practice.” Seungcheol says, like that’s obvious enough.

“And what does Jisoo think it is?”

“A fireman’s pole!”

“Of course he does.” Jihoon says tonelessly. He crosses the room—surprisingly neat, although there’s a stack of dog eared paperbacks on the night table, and a pile of folded laundry on a chair.

“I’m beginning to think Jisoo’s—“ He's about to say _‘dumb as fuck’_ , but that’s a rude way of describing friendly people you’ve just met, "A little slow." That isn't much better.

“Oh, he is. He’s very naïve when it comes to certain things.” Seungcheol acknowledges. At Jihoon’s questioning look, he adds, “He once walked in on me trying on a pair of crotch-less pants and he offered to sew them for me. _Cause he thought I had ripped them_. He thought I had ripped a perfect circle in the crotch area of my pants.” Seungcheol deadpans.  

Jihoon nods but he’s not really listening to the end of that story, cause all he can think about it is…

“Do you _have_ crotch-less outfits?” Jihoon says, before he can convince himself not to.

Seungcheol eyes him as if he can read every thought flickering through his mind. “Yes, Jihoon. I’m a stripper. I have crotch-less _everything_. Crotch-less fireman, crotch-less cowboy, even a crotch-less police officer. Wanna see?” he purrs. 

Jihoon sits down on the edge of the bed before he topples over, and makes sure he’s enunciating very clearly. “Yes, please.”

* * *

 

Seungcheol _does_ have an array of crotch-less stripper get ups in his wardrobe. Including matching accessories; batteries not included.

He pulls them out, one by one, and demonstrates how he would use each accessory in his routine.

If this was, in truth, meant to quench Jihoon’s thirsty curiosity, it misses the mark entirely.

Jihoon’s personal favourite is the police uniform, and his imagination takes the matching cuffs and police baton to a new level of perversion from what they’re intended.

They’re on second bottle of wine and Jihoon’s feeling loose and relaxed. He’s managed to hoist himself up onto the bed and is lying on his back while Seungcheol walks back from the wardrobe and switches his I-Pod dock on. Soft music fills the room; the singer’s voice is melodic, almost muffled.

“If you like, you can pick an outfit and I’ll do a routine for you.” Seungcheol offers teasingly.

“Hmm. How about **_you_** pick your favourite outfit and surprise me.” Jihoon suggests, rolling over to the side of the bed and picking up the wine bottle. He tilts it in Seungcheol's direction. Seungcheol nods and holds out the glass.

“I think you’d look good in anything—as long as it’s not a clown stripper costume.” Jihoon finishes pouring and sets the bottle down.

“Oh. Guess I shouldn’t show you then.” Seungcheol replies, looking at Jihoon with a deathly serious expression.

They burst into laughter after a breath and Jihoon leans back against the headboard. “Seriously, it better not. I hate clowns so much even you can’t make them sexy.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Seungcheol says with a flirty grin. Jihoon throws a pillow at him he’s been using as an arm rest.

Seungcheol laughs, reaches deep into the wardrobe and rummages around, before pulling out a clothes hanger retained in a suit protector. He fixes Jihoon with a warm, hooded gaze. “Lucky for you, I’m not a big fan of clowns either.”

Jihoon arches an eyebrow, eyes suddenly suspicious.

“I promise it isn’t a clown Jihoonie. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Seungcheol grins, sliding the zipper down the cover. “Close your eyes.”

Jihoon obliges him and closes his eyes as Seungcheol starts undressing. 

He can hear the ruffle of fabric, the quiet rasp of a zipper and the snap of elastic. At one point Seungcheol pads into the bathroom and Jihoon can hear the water running briefly, before Seungcheol returns.

“Okay, you can look now Jihoonie.” Seungcheol purrs, his voice clinging to Jihoon like sticky, warm caramel.

Jihoon opens his eyes then, his gaze flashing as he looks Seungcheol up and down. He’s naked from the waist up, his hair is wet, and he’s wearing a pair of red trousers with matching suspenders.

Jihoon's gut knots with arousal. He's not going to have any problems jerking off when he gets home tonight. He lets out a low whistle. “Suspenders?” he says, in what is an embarrassingly rough tone of voice. 

“Yeah. It was the outfit I auditioned for the job with Hannie in. I’m supposed to wear a white shirt under this, but I was younger then and it doesn’t fit anymore.”

“How old were you?” Jihoon asks calmly, setting his wineglass on the nightstand without bothering to locate a coaster. 

Seungcheol flushes and fidgets, but his voice is steady.  “Nineteen. I think.”

Jihoon’s breath spikes in, his skin ripples into gooseflesh. The image of this - fuck, the thought of it is burning into Jihoon’s brain, red-hot.

Seungcheol, nineteen. Getting ready to perform his first routine. Jihoon can't imagine that at nineteen Seungcheol had all his present confidence, he’d be shy, unsure, maybe unexperienced in more ways than one.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be thinking about this.

Jihoon manages to find the breath to say, “Shame I missed it.”

Seungcheol smiles, happy and dazzling before moving over to the I-pod dock on the dresser and switching the music.

He pads across the room, sets his glass down and bends to kiss Jihoon on one too-warm cheek. “You didn’t miss anything.” He purrs, his voice filthy with promises.

 

* * *

 

It shouldn’t be a seductive routine, what with all the hip thrusts, crotch grabbing and aggressive, showy dance moves, but Seungcheol can make anything look sexual. Jihoon's pretty sure he could make the electric slide or the Macarena seductive.

Jihoon is in awe with how he moves with the music; swinging his hips, tossing his head back even dropping to the floor at one stage with unexpected grace. Seungcheol finishes the routine panting and breathless, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin when he plucks the taut suspender like a harp string against his bare chest.

His eyes are hooded, easy, and there's a tiny smile tucking up the corners of his mouth just enough for his dimples to show. Jihoon wants to kiss him and then fuck him through the floor.

“What do you think?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly.

Jihoon’s jaw suddenly loses the ability to move. He has to flex it from side to side just to speak again. “That was, that was—quite a show.”

Those dimples come out in their full glory, then, as Seungcheol steps close, his pupils wide and his eyes glassy. “You liked it?”

“Absolutely.” Jihoon says promptly, taking hold of Seungcheol's wrist, feeling the rush of his pulse beneath his fingertips.

“You should bring that routine back.  Bring the whole outfit back. It’s a real winner.” He adds, tugging Seungcheol closer until he’s sitting before him half naked, with a smirk on his full lips and his legs spread wide, somehow still looking like a shining beacon of innocence.

“Hmm—I’d rather not. It’s exhausting and..” Seungcheol’s hand starts to move on Jihoon's leg, light and teasing on the upstroke, fingers straying ever closer to Jihoon's crotch, nails scraping over the fabric of Jihoon's trousers on the down stroke, aggravating and arousing and so very Seungcheol. He pauses and looks almost shy for a moment, which is a downright hilarious contrast to his behaviour up until now. “I’d rather keep some things for your eyes only.” he says quietly.

Jihoon feels his pulse jump. Letting his hand trail down one thigh, he chuckles quietly.  “My eyes only?” He purrs, raising an eyebrow. “I’m honoured.”

Jihoon lets his hand ease higher, up between Seungcheol’s legs, touching there as well, and since Seungcheol allows it he takes a good long time thumbing over the zip of his trousers.

Jihoon can practically feel the heat radiating off Seungcheol’s body. The air is laced with something warm and thick and Jihoon knows it isn’t just an effect of the alcohol.

When their gazes lock, Seungcheol is regarding him languidly, a wry twist to his lips and a heaviness to his eyes.

Hesitantly at first, Jihoon lets himself touch. His hands skim across Seungcheol’s chest, pausing to roll the point of one dark nipple between his fingers, thumbing the piercing gently. Sweat goes prickling over his body when Seungcheol gasps as he leans forward kisses there.

_Always so sensitive._

Jihoon surges forward, catching Seungcheol by the straps of his suspenders, pushing their mouths together and kisses him with no self-consciousness whatsoever.

Seungcheol’s mouth parts, releases a sigh that Jihoon swallows down eagerly. Seungcheol’s mouth is hot, tongue sweeping wetly against his own, and Jihoon's hands clamp tightly at his silk-clad hips. 

As they kiss, Jihoon determines that Seungcheol is… _shy_ , which normally isn’t even one of the top fifty words Jihoon would use to describe him. The way he kisses is slow-burning and gradual, his hands chastely limiting themselves to Jihoon’s neck and shoulders. His tongue is a tentative, velvety flicker of heat against Jihoon’s lips, teasing without pressing for entrance.

When Jihoon tilts his head and turns the kiss into something filthier, Seungcheol makes sounds against Jihoon’s lips, small half-swallowed gasps like he’s hungry all over again despite the meal they just ate.

“Fucking hell Cheol.” Jihoon rasps, glassy-eyed and flushed when they part for air, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me.” Seungcheol whispers. He actually sounds a little nervous, a little breathless. Jihoon realizes with surprise that he’s affecting Seungcheol just like Seungcheol is affecting him. Well, maybe Jihoon is a little more dazzled.

Jihoon bites just below his collarbone, nips up his throat, nudges Seungcheol’s head back so he can kiss the underside of his chin and suck there just short of hard enough to mark him. He peppers little kisses across Seungcheol’s jaw, light and teasing and Seungcheol is giggling— _giggling_ , and somehow instead of being jarring it just has Jihoon's cock flushing full, pushing against the front of his slacks. His hands seek purchase on the too-frictionless fabric over Seungcheol’s hips and Seungcheol obligingly slants them against him, hard.

“We don’t--” Jihoon begins, and clears his throat. “We don’t have to do anything now--” he tries again, not even sure why he’s hesitating, but as if to say  _Yes we do_ Seungcheol leans in again and kisses him.His head swims as Seungcheol bites lightly at his lips, slips his arm around his neck.

Jihoon clutches at him, pulls him closer, frustrated by the barrier of clothing. His seeking hands ease up under the straps of Seungcheol’s suspenders, up over the curve of his shoulders where he finally pushes them off Seungcheol’s shoulders. Seungcheol hums in approval as they fall free, and he slips his arms around Jihoon’s neck once more.

Jihoon feels a welling of pleasure at this positive sign from Seungcheol, and doesn’t mind in the slightest that Seungcheol’s slowly pushing him to lie back on the bed.

Seungcheol’s weight on him feels heavenly. He’s slowly rocking his hips against Jihoon’s as he kisses him, pressing their erections together through their layers of clothes.

Jihoon has to break to catch his breath, and he blinks up at Seungcheol, who looks unearthly and beautiful in the dim light. “Fuck—you’re beautiful,” he can only think to gasp out. Above him Seungcheol groans and closes his eyes for a moment.

Then Seungcheol is shifting, sitting back and spreading his knees, and unbuttoning his pants, and Jihoon feels a shock of lust like a physical punch.

“What do you want? We can do anything you want.” Seungcheol whispers, peering down at him expectantly through his damp fringe.

Heat goes licking up Jihoon’s middle. He doesn’t answer Seungcheol, just raises himself up then almost suddenly, sitting upright to Seungcheol’s clear disappointment.

Seungcheol frowns, then appears to be momentarily composing himself, and then he says. “Is something wrong?”

Jihoon chuckles. “No. But, you said we could do anything and—I would really like it if you sat on my face.” Jihoon says. There's probably a little too much excitement in his voice. He's hasn’t been sucking the helium out of balloons all day, so it would be great if he didn't sound like it. That is not a voice that's convincing Seungcheol to sit on his face and let Jihoon eat him out.

“I—what??” Seungcheol says, quiet and oddly abashed.

Jihoon takes a deep, calming breath. _“Sit—on—my—face.”_ Jihoon repeats firmly.

Seungcheol gapes at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” His breath comes out shuddery at the thought of it. He's fantasized about Seungcheol's ass a lot, and what better way to introduce himself to it. Besides, Jihoon has some very strong convictions about rewarding exemplary hospitality.

Seungcheol’s pants wind up pooled on the floor and Jihoon winds up lying fully clothed on Seungcheol’s white-swathed bedsheets. Cream-vanilla virginal, more fitting than he realises.

Slowly, Seungcheol gets on the bed and crawls up on top of Jihoon. His hands dent the mattress on either side of Jihoon’s head as he straddles Jihoon’s shoulders, with his knees spread and ass hovering scant inches over Jihoon’s face.

Truth be told, there are few places Jihoon would rather be. He's so fucking happy, he's actually jealous of himself.

Seungcheol's cock is red and hard and beautiful, and Jihoon needs to make him come, wants to watch him come undone with a ferocity that turns everything blindingly white for a moment.  His hands come to rest on Seungcheol's hips, drawn there as they always are, but his eyes are resolutely glued to Seungcheol’s hole.

Soon Seungcheol is parting his thighs, arching and writhing back as Jihoon nuzzles his face between his ass cheeks.

“Je—sus Christ, Jihoon!” Seungcheol gasps. “Are you—motorboating my ass?”

"Your ass is amazing," Jihoon tells him. Which is an answer, whether it sounds like one or not.

Jihoon nuzzles his face between Seungcheol's cheeks for a moment, then leans up and opens his mouth. He runs his tongue along the crease, just because he can. One long glide, all the way from the bottom to the top, which leaves the skin shiny. He lets it drag back down, slower. Seungcheol's warm here, impossibly warm against Jihoon's tongue, and he clenches just a little when instead of licking across it, Jihoon investigates that tight stretch of muscle.

Seungcheol gives a little grunt, like he's not sure whether to object or not.

Jihoon moves his head a bit to lap at Seungcheol's rim. Seungcheol groans, soft, distracted, sounding as if he’s tipped his head back. One hand goes to Jihoon’s hair, gently stroking through it as Jihoon suctions his lips over Seungcheol’s hole, the flat of his tongue stroking him. He can hear Seungcheol’s other hand trying to clutch at the bedding, finding no purchase.

Jihoon spreads Seungcheol's cheeks, thumbs drifting over the wet pink of his hole, where Jihoon has made it shiny with saliva.

"Oh--oh!" Seungcheol sobs.

That's - that's so fucking hot, he definitely needs to put his tongue back there. Seungcheol is already sliding down further, bending into a better angle. It’s sort of silent permission for Jihoon to keep going.

Jihoon doesn’t squander a second, gripping Seungcheol’s ass cheeks, parting them and mouthing right up against his rim. All the air rushes from Seungcheol’s lungs in a shocked gust, his body going first taut and then pliable, relenting to let Jihoon in. “Oh my god—Oh—oh! Jihoon—fuck!”

He sounds a little awed and a little surprised, and very happy, and that’s the truly important thing. Jihoon hums just to make him tremble and gets to work. “Ji—jihoon. I—“

Again and again, the tender little opening contracts under his tongue until Jihoon coaxes it into submission. He’s slow about it, easing his way in, kissing there as if he’s done it countless times before.

“Jihoon—you don’t have to—ahh!” Seungcheol protests, not all that insistently.

Shamelessness has its merits and Jihoon makes use of them all--groaning against the tight clench of Seungcheol’s hole just to hear him gasp, thumbing him open and teasing at him as long as he can stand, giving hot quick little licks like he’s savouring him. Occasionally, when he can’t withstand the temptation another second, he drives his tongue deeper only to ease back and tease lightly at him all over again.

Jihoon’s touching Seungcheol everywhere he can. Palms roving up the small of his back, down to the curve of his ass, squeezing the firm globes in bruising grip as he spears his tongue inside his tight heat.

Seungcheol, hovering over him, writhes and blushes and emits a noise that might very well be a growl. Jihoon rewards him with a grin and a wicked twist of his tongue. “This—ahh. Oh—fuck! Please Jihoon! You’re going to kill me!”

“Oh, Cheollie baby. You’re so sensitive.” Jihoon murmurs, pitying and soothing and wicked all at once.

He turns his attention to Seungcheol’s balls, smooth and firm and perfect for Jihoon to take into his mouth, sucking and curling his tongue around each one, making Seungcheol beg so sweetly for him to stop.

He passes the flat of his tongue against them, feeling a dizzying flare of triumph when Seungcheol whines. “Jihoon— _please_!”

“Hands off yourself, by the way.” Jihoon orders.

Seungcheol is showing no sign of doing anything with his hands but clawing at the covers for dear life, his wrists torqueing in the sheets and his breath jarring in almost pain. The evil mastermind in Jihoon thrills at the idea of making him come from nothing but his tongue inside him, fluttering against his hole, lapping up each drop of his come when he releases into the bedsheets.

“Oh—fuck—ahhh.” Seungcheol’s practically hyperventilating when Jihoon pushes his tongue deeper, all the way in. Jihoon’s fingers are splayed hard over his ass and his jaw is starting to ache but Seungcheol—bloody fucking hell,  _Seungcheol_ — is quivering above him and Jihoon can hear every little moan, sob and whimper he tries to choke down.

He has to be sure. “Still with me?”

Seungcheol whines high in his throat and leans forward, braces his palms on the mattress and lifts off a little. “This isn’t—isn’t what I had pictured happening between us.”

Jihoon pauses, looking up at him through his lashes. “Do you want me to stop?”

Seungcheol clears his throat. For a moment, he looks like he’s forgotten what he was going to say; then he says, voice hoarse, “No—no—fuck no. Just—I thought you’d want me to reciprocate somehow. It feels like I’m having all the fun here.”

“Are you kidding?” Jihoon says immediately, and gives Seungcheol’s ass one good squeeze before landing a sharp slap on one of his cheeks. “I’m the one who’s having all the fun. I’ve thought about this a lot—might have even wrote a poem or two about it.” Jihoon breathes, losing half the words when he curves up to mouth at Seungcheol’s hole all over again, tongue pressing deep. 

Slowly, Jihoon pushes his tongue back into him. Seungcheol’s a furnace inside, indecently slick from earlier, opening right up for Jihoon’s tongue. “You’re so tight, so hot. Bet you’d feel amazing around my dick.” Jihoon can’t resist murmuring at him, and Seungcheol’s hole gives a delightful spasm as Jihoon’s flickers his tongue against the rim.

Jihoon works his tongue in as deeply as he can manage, experimenting, and then keeps his lips tight as he slowly draws off. “Yes,” Seungcheol is hissing quietly, as if to himself, and Jihoon does it again.

Seungcheol only whimpers and obligingly rocks down, legs parted wide, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Jihoon’s head.

“Ah,” Seungcheol says, sounding quite serene as Jihoon fucks his tongue inside. “Fuck.”

Jihoon is going to sprain his tongue. He's going to do some sort of permanent damage, but he doesn't care. Because Seungcheol's thigh is twitching feverishly, where he’s balanced over Jihoon’s head, and he's making these low, breathy noises, half-smothered like he's trying not to.

Seungcheol mumbles something none too coherent to begin with that only slides further into inarticulacy when Jihoon slips a finger down lower and then between his cheeks to circle his hole.

He could put pressure there - so he does, just the faintest push, and the muscle gives a little. Jihoon's next breath comes out cracked, because it would be so easy to just slide his fingers inside, and he wants to, he really, really wants to. But he doesn't know if Seungcheol wants him to.

 _He’s letting you rim him—he’s gonna let you finger him._ A voice in the back of his head reasons.

Jihoon can't resist stroking there anyway, slipping a finger inside all at once just to hear Seungcheol’s shocked-startled gasp, just to feel the way that beautiful body  _clenches_  for him, hips rocking and hands clutching. Trying to take more.

He fucks his finger up into Seungcheol, slick and hot, pressing at his rim with the pad of a thumb to spread him open that much more.

“Yes, god, just like that,” Seungcheol gasps, sounding increasingly desperate, and Jihoon pushes it in deeper; then there’s a soft cry breaking in Seungcheol’s throat when his ass clenches around the digit.  

It’s a thing of beauty to have Seungcheol groaning luxuriously and gasping just from the smallest hint of penetration, the sort of thing that has Jihoon imagining coming in him—no condom, no uncertainty—just being able to fuck him hard and come inside him.

Jihoon laps the rim eagerly, eases in a second finger, forces him wider, forces his tongue back in alongside them.

Seungcheol keeps gripping at his knees, at the sheets, at his own hair, prick full and reddened and untouched against his belly. It’s killing Jihoon that he can’t watch, not while he’s wriggling his tongue deeper still. He draws back, presses the tip to his opening, and Seungcheol only squirms and tries to drive himself down for more.

There’s nothing in any language that could adequately convey what he’s feeling. All that matters is making Seungcheol crumble.

A few more probing touches with his tongue and one twist of his fingers and Seungcheol is clutching at the sheets and whatever part of Jihoon he can. “God—Jihoon! Sss—stoo much!” he gasps.

And then Seungcheol is keening and shuddering and ‘ _Jihoon_ , _I’ll come, I’ll come, I’ll come, please don’t, too much, can’t—need—oh fuck, god, oh my god, please’_  until Jihoon thrusts his tongue in as far as he can, slicks both fingers in along with it to crook and seek and  _press_.

Seconds later, Seungcheol jerks like a livewire and climaxes with a wail; spattering come on the bedsheets and clamping tight and silken and perfect around Jihoon’s fingers.

Jihoon doesn’t see it, but he can tell. One hand going to press against his own cock, which is throbbing at the realization of what’s just happened. “Fuck.”

Seungcheol comes down from his high slowly. Jihoon purses his lips against his hole in an obscene kiss, sucking ever so lightly and Seungcheol makes a noise that sounds helpless and broken, body jerking and shaking like Jihoon has left him in pieces.

When Jihoon shifts out from underneath him a little, Seungcheol’s come on the sheets smears against his shirt. Jihoon doesn’t care, he can’t hold it against him. He can’t hold anything against him now.

His jaw aches and his tongue feels bruised which makes talking difficult. Even if he'd been able to speak, there was nothing whatsoever Jihoon could have said to do the moment justice.

"That was amazing," he manages eventually, petting up the inside of one thigh, dropping a final kiss to the soft flesh there before helping lift Seungcheol off to the side.

Seungcheol’s too drained to do anything but collapse on the bed, and Jihoon curls a hand over Seungcheol’s hip and surveys him.

Mussed to the limit and shining with sweat.

Decimated. Perfectly.

After a few moments, Seungcheol sits back a bit, swallowing, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes, blinking at Jihoon in a daze as he catches his breath. “Fuck,” he says, “Fuck you’re amazing. Nobody has ever done that to me.”

Jihoon lets his face show everything he thinks about that revelation. “That’s actually tragic. Your ass is amazing and perfect. It was made to be worshipped.” He says, stroking said ass appreciatively.

“Did you really write poetry about me sitting on your face?”” Seungcheol finally asks. His voice sounds lazy, throatier, and even though his eyes are barely open he can’t seem to take them off Jihoon’s mouth. If that’s not success, Jihoon doesn’t know what is.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says honestly, still tasting Seungcheol in his mouth, feeling how swollen his lips are. “That and—lots of other things. I imagined it all frequently and creatively.”

Seungcheol grins widely and tackles him into a kiss. They groan into each others mouths, hands wondering over heated skin—

A door slams down the hallway—Jisoo’s voice echo’s through the apartment. “I’m home!”

Jihoon wrenches himself free of the kiss, practically catapulting himself off the bed like he’s a horny teenager about to be caught in his boyfriend’s room past curfew.

Seungcheol, who is still stretched out indolently on the bed, quirks an amused brow at him. “Oh no. My father’s home. Quickly, climb out the window! He musn’t catch you deflowering me in my bedroom. He’ll send me to bible camp and we’ll never see each other again.” He says dryly.

Jihoon huffs a breath of laughter, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I—panicked. But that’s a pretty kinky scenario, do you like to role play?”

Jihoon looks back at Seungcheol, and catches an odd expression on his face; instead of cool and appraising, he looks more wide-eyed, a question in his eyes, what might even be termed yearning, if Jihoon were being optimistic. “I haven’t tried it before. But I’d like to.”

“We could. I think it would be fun and—you’ve got all the props too.” Jihoon says, gesturing to the open wardrobe spilling out with costumes.  

There is, Jihoon decides, definitely a hint of excitement in Seungcheol’s eyes.

“Anyway, it’s late.” Jihoon grimaces as he notes the time, starts self-consciously smoothing his shirt back into place. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to.” Seungcheol practically whines. “We just got started and you’re still hard. I didn't get to touch you at all.” He pouts, and drops facedown into a pillow.

Jihoon shrugs to himself, sits down on the edge of the bed, and kisses along the edge of Seungcheol’s shoulder blade until he decides to stop contemplating self-asphyxiation.

“This isn’t going to be the only date we have, is it?” Jihoon says, breath catching in his throat for some reason.

Seungcheol turns his head enough to look him up and down. “No.”

“Good. Maybe if you’re free later this week, you can come over to mine. We’ll have plenty of opportunities to—uhm—do more.” Jihoon murmurs, fingers petting almost tentatively at his nape."

Seungcheol smiles beautifully. "Okay, but next time, you get to have the fun."

"But I did have the fun," Jihoon begins to argue, but Seungcheol's already shaking his head and huffing."Okay, okay. How about, next time. We _both_ get to have the fun?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Long chapter is long. Sorry it took a while to churn it out but I was writing other updates and I didn't want to rush this.  
> 2) If you Haven't seen the Aju Nice Fancam with Seungcheol's in the red-suspenders. What are you doing with your life?  
> [Aju Nice Seungcheol fan cam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Klg_5eHEkB8)  
> If you follow me on twitter...you know how much I love that fan cam and Aju Nice era in general. Such an underrated era.  
> [Aju Nice was awesome thread.](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/882673372387323904)  
> 3) SERIOUSLY THAT FAN CAM WAS THE BEST, DON'T DENY IT. ESPECIALLY WHEN SEUNGCHEOL FLICKS HIS HAIR BACK. FUCK FUCK FUCK.  
> 4) Anyway. Hope you enjoyed the update. Feedback always appreciated.


	11. Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohoohohohohohohohoh.

It’s Thursday and Jihoon’s running a little late for work. Tardiness would _usually_ set his day off to a bad start, but his night with Seungcheol has him in such a happy daze, he’s strolling casually towards his office without a care.

He promises not to make a habit of if it—this ‘cheerful’ mood. He’s built a reputation in the firm around being brutal, distant and efficient and walking around with a shit eating grin is bound to turn some heads.

But he’s so content, he even stops at his favourite bakery around the corner from his building.

He can already smell the freshly baked pastries wafting out the propped open door—and suddenly craves a cheese and basil tart, maybe a couple of lemon and poppy seed muffins.

He's just about to enter the bakery when a flash of white and black catches the corner of his eye. Wonwoo standing at the newsagents next door, paying for a pack of cigarettes.

“Wonu?” he calls out.

Wonwoo’s head snaps up. The look he gives Jihoon is comical—eyes wide and shocked, like he's been trapped. He quickly grabs a magazine and ducks his head behind it.

Wonwoo’s obviously not keen for conversation this morning and normally Jihoon would respect that. He has his need for quiet days too, but he’s pulled up short at the sight of Wonwoo’s swollen eye. 

“Wonu, why are you hiding from me?” Jihoon asks drolly.

Wonwoo’s shoulders tense and he lowers the magazine an inch. “Oh—hello Jihoon. I didn’t see you there. I wasn’t hiding.” He says, ducking his head again.   

“Really? So, do you usually read, _Women’s Weekly?”_ Jihoon asks, reading the title of the magazine.

Wonwoo’s jerks his head back slightly in bewilderment. He looks down, curiously, as if maybe he hadn't registered the fact that he even picked up a magazine much less what it was about. “Uh—yes. Some really great, informative articles in here.” He laughs sheepishly.

“Great informative articles like, _‘Do Orgasms Stop at 40?_ ’” Jihoon asks speculatively, reading the headline article printed on the front.

“Yes, well. I mostly read it for the recipes.” Wonwoo deflects.

Jihoon sighs and rolls his eyes. “How’s your eye?”

“What? Oh, it’s fine. I got hit with a tennis ball—while I was playing tennis—with my tennis partner. I play tennis now, at the tennis club. I probably forgot to tell you that I joined a tennis club—but I did. I joined a tennis club—because I really love tennis.”

Jihoon shakes his head and secretly feels sorry for every client Wonwoo has ever represented.

“Wonu— _stop_. I know Mingyu popped a champagne cork in it.”

Wonwoo sighs theatrically, folding the Women’s Weekly issue back into its rack. “How’d you find out?”

“He told me. I bumped into him—in town.” He lies. “He’s wants to know when you’re calling to reschedule.”

Wonwoo’s face drops into a scowl. “I’m never rescheduling. Never. I’m never going back there. Ever.” he says, and his voice is some confusing mixture of imperious and uncertain that Jihoon doesn't think he's ever heard before.

“Yeah. Ok. _Sure_. Just call him would you and stop being so chicken shit.” Jihoon finishes, leaving Wonwoo to gape at his retreating back.

* * *

 

Jihoon is sitting at his desk, jacket off, shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows, making case notes in a black moleskin when there is a knock on the door.

“Knock, knock?” Soonyoung says cheerily.

Jihoon spares him a quick glance.

“Hey Soon, come on in, sit down. You want a muffin? I picked up a few extra ones at the bakery this morning. Get em while they’re still fresh.” Jihoon says, gesturing to the paper bag on the edge of his desk.

When there is no answer from Soonyoung, he lifts his head to find him standing frozen between the door and Jihoon’s desk, with an air of bewilderment. It’s almost as if he's forgotten where he is, and Jihoon can't help but raise a curious eyebrow in response.

“Is something wrong?” Jihoon asks carefully.

“You—you’re inviting me into your office.” Soonyoung says. Every syllable, every consonant, is precise and clipped, slow and assessing, like Soonyoung is testing it for structural integrity.

“Yeah? _And_?”

“And—you’re offering me a muffin.” Soonyoung says firmly, like it's an unexpected and maybe even unnerving development.

“Yeah.” Jihoon says, selecting a muffin from the paper bag and offering it. Soonyoung frowns and stares at it with one eyebrow raised, which makes Jihoon gesture, in a vaguely annoyed sort of way with the muffin. “Take it.”

Soonyoung inches forward cautiously, as if Jihoon might launch an attack at him with a stapler at any second, and takes the muffin from his outstretched hand.

“It’s lemon and poppy-seed. Your favourite.” Jihoon says, then he smiles warmly and adds. “Enjoy.”

Soonyoung blinks at him for a minute. There's a long pause, long enough that Jihoon starts to worry that maybe he's broken him. Then Soonyoung’s eyes widen and his jaw drops. “Oh my god, Jihoon –are you _dying_?”

“What?” Jihoon says, bewildered at the random question. “No.”

Soonyoung covers his mouth with his palm. “I can’t believe you’re dying and this is how you’re breaking the news to me!” He gasps and Jihoon wonders if Soonyoung makes sense to himself at all.

“I’m not dying.” Jihoon groans into his palm.

Soonyoung shakes his head mournfully. “Jihoon. I can’t believe you’re dying and you’re still coming to work. You’re so dedicated to your job. How long do you have left? We need to treasure these final moments.”

“Soonyoung, I’m not dying!” He insists vehemently.

Soonyoung shoots a look of scepticism at Jihoon and says, “So, if _you’re_ not dying. Then somebody you hate must have died. Oh god—is it Johnny Depp?”

“I wish.” Jihoon groans.

“Jared Leto?”

“No.”

“Nicholas Cage?”

“No.”

“John Mayer?”

“No.”

“Freelee the banana girl?”

“No.”

“Wen Junhui?”

Jihoon sighs. “If you’re going to go through a list of everyone I hate, we’re going to be here a long time.”

“Did one of the senior partners die and you’re replacing them?” Soonyoung asks next.

“No. Although there have been whisperings of a retirement and maybe a position will be up for grabs.” Jihoon says, with a smile.

Soonyoung opens his mouth then closes it, and that's the first time in a long time Jihoon’s seen him wrestle with his own thoughts. He squints suspiciously at Jihoon, but nonetheless takes a seat on the edge of Jihoon’s desk.

He brings his muffin up to his nose and sniffs it, like he suspects Jihoon has done sinister things to the muffin. He’s about to bite into it then frowns uncertainly, which just as quickly turns into an expression of accusation.

 **“Did you wipe your butt on this muffin?”** he accuses loudly.

Jihoon tilts his head to the ceiling and implores for patience. “No.”

Soonyoung doesn’t appear to believe him.

“Did you—wipe somebody _else’s_ butt on this muffin?” Soonyoung prods.

Jihoon bites the inside of his cheek. “Do I come across as the type of guy who would do that?” He tries to assure.

Yeah, he can tell by Soonyoung's expression that didn't help at all.

Jihoon isn't entirely sure whether to be confused or insulted. He very much wants to take the muffin away from Soonyoung and kick him out of his office. “Can’t a guy give his best friend a muffin without all this— _suspicion_?”

Soonyoung scoffs. “Most people—yeah, sure. _Not you though.”_ He answers wryly. The unconscious twist of his lips is familiar. “Hmm—something’s up. You’re pleased as punch. It’s _weird_.”

“Am I?” Jihoon says scratching the back of his head. His determination to control his good cheer and act like nothing is different appears to have failed spectacularly. He shrugs his shoulders affably. “Guess I am.”

Soonyoung’s expression twists into something positively indecent. Those expressive eyebrows dance. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the ‘mystery’ person you’ve been flirting with?”

Jihoon doesn’t even bother feigning ignorance. He tilts his chin up. “Maybe.” He admits, before turning his head back to his work.

He can feel Soonyoung’s gaze on him. Then experiences a rush of mental anguish as he realizes what a hard time Soonyoung is going to give him until he squeezes out every single detail. Getting information from Jihoon is like bleeding a rock, but Soonyoung has patience in spades. Jihoon knows he’ll wait him out.

Jihoon bites the bullet. “If you must know—I had a date with Seungcheol last night and it went— _really well.”_

“Who’s Seungcheol?” Soonyoung asks confusedly, peeling back the paper case off his muffin.

“My favourite stripper from Club Pledis. Yanno, S.Coups. Seungcheol is his real name.” Jihoon explains.

“Oh.” Soonyoung says quickly. His eyebrows draw together, rising in the centre and then with more feeling. _“Ohhhhh.”_

“Yeah. So, I guess it might be rubbing off on my mood a little”

“A little? That’s a bit of an understatement.” Soonyoung says, voice muffled around a bite of muffin as he chews, then swallows. “So, when you say it went well, how well are we talking about? Did you guys kiss? Did you agree to meet up again? _Did you get to third base?”_ he finishes with a leer.

Jihoon matches his leer. “All of that and more.” He says, agreeable, leaning back in his seat.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows shoot up at his phrasing, “ _More_?” He says with his mouth full.

Jihoon smirks and loosens his tie. “Let’s just say—he sat on my face and I ate him out.” He could have made a subtle reference, but why bother?

Jihoon regrets offering Soonyoung the muffin now, now that there are tiny pieces of wet muffin all over his desk and suit.

Jihoon glares at him disgustedly. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood Soon, otherwise I would have murdered you for spitting muffin all over my office.” He reminds him, hackles rising.

Soonyoung’s face is dangerously red, he might be choking on muffin, and not suggestively. “Jesus Christ Jihoon.” He manages between heaving breaths. “Are you serious? He just—let you eat him out?”

“Hmmm, yup.” Jihoon nods smugly, stretching his arms out then folding them behind his head.

“It was— _fuck_ , it was amazing. He’s so, _responsive_ and _whiny_ and actually _shy_ —which you wouldn’t expect from a stripper. I had his ass cheeks in both hands like this, then I just— _fbubfbubfbubfbub_.” Jihoon demonstrates how he motor boarded Seungcheol’s butt cheeks, because let’s face it, visual aids are sometimes necessary.

He continues to describe his night with Seungcheol as Soonyoung tries not to asphyxiate on his muffin.

“Then I fingered him. Then I fingered _and_ rimmed him, and—“ Jihoon has to stop talking then because he has to actively dodge projectile muffin pieces.

“Would you _please_ stop coughing food all over my fucking office!” He growls at a sputtering, choking Soonyoung.

“Stop saying obscene things with a serious face.” Soonyoung defends, trying to regain his breathing.

Jihoon rolls his eyes and hands him the rest of his coffee to clear his windpipe with.

Soonyoung gulps it down and clears his throat. “Jesus Jihoon. I’m not even sure what I can say. I wasn’t expecting that from you. I’m surprised but, you seem— _happy_?”

“I am.” Jihoon says honestly.

Soonyoung’s mouth twists into a small, possibly disbelieving smile. “That’s great. I’m happy for you bro. Enjoy it while you can.”

“Thanks— _wait_.” Jihoon pauses. A resigned, agreeable Soonyoung is a strange thing to hear. “What do you mean? _While I can?”_ He questions, overly patient. He’s sure Soonyoung can hear the terseness in his voice.

“I’m just saying—while it lasts. Cause whatever you’ve got going with him clearly isn’t a long-term thing.” Soonyoung says casually around a mouthful of muffin, his eyes widen a fraction as Jihoon’s face tenses, then he bursts out into laughter.

Jihoon hopes he pulls something, laughing that hard.

His office is officially a war zone. There are wet chunks of muffin everywhere now.

There’s some in Jihoon’s hair.

That’s the last time he offers baked treats to anyone.

Except maybe Seungcheol.

Seungcheol deserves all the baked treats.

“You think this is a long-term thing? You— _dating a stripper?”_ Soonyoung gasps a dry burst of laughter. The sound cuts short, and he shakes his head.

“I fail to see what’s so funny. I might not have thought about it long-term—but I’m not opposed to it. Why couldn’t I date Seungcheol long-term?” Jihoon asks. He doesn’t understand the disappointment that settles in his words.

Soonyoung finishes what’s left of his muffin and crumples up the wrapper. “You’re a pretty career focused guy Jihoon, since I’ve known you and that’s a long time. I just don’t see how—S.Coups,”

“ _Seungcheol_.” Jihoon interjects sharply.

“Sorry I just don’t see how _Seungcheol_ , will fit into your life is all. He’s—him—and you’re you. This seems very temporary to me, but I know that’s the way you like your relationships.” He says, eyes locked on Jihoon’s.

It’s not a staring match, not really, but it feels like one. The uncomfortable ache behind the eyes.

Jihoon thinks about replying to that—bitterly, harshly and a tad insultingly as well. But everything from Soonyoung’s spread hands to his patient expression is disgustingly reasonable.

Jihoon really hates him sometimes.

Sure, Jihoon is very career focused. His mind is a rigid place, strict and organized and sharp. He's had to learn to keep it that way, the struggle of the past and determined present tucked away in careful boxes while he focuses on the future. Orderly and secure. It works for him.

It doesn’t mean he has to give up on having somebody in his life.

After a minute of flexing his jaw, he decides to let the comment slide. He doesn’t want this to turn into a big conversation.

Soonyoung seems uncomfortable when Jihoon doesn't acknowledge his latest volley, like he’s second guessing his choice of words. The comfortable brand of antagonistic teasing between them is their default language, but it only works when they’re both participating and Jihoon’s closed-off expression says the discussion is over. For now, at least.

Soonyoung frowns, and his eyes drop belatedly to the crumpled napkin in his hand. His brows are furrowed, his distress like a chisel mark between them. “I didn’t really get to eat much of that muffin. Can I have another?”

Jihoon lifts an eyebrow, and everything is back to normal. “There’s only one left and you better not plaster it on the walls this time.”

 

* * *

 

Jihoon treats Sundays with a special kind of reverence. On Sunday morning, there is no alarm; it is the only day that Jihoon does not drag himself out for a gym session before starting work. On Sunday morning, the bed is always warm and the room is always bright. He is free to roll over, pull the covers over his head and think of nothing. 

Not this Sunday.

Seungcheol is coming over because it’s the only free evening they both have off this week and Jihoon wants to make the most of it. He’s been anticipating this moment since— _well_ —since Wednesday. He even had a cleaner in to clean his damn apartment from top to bottom for Seungcheol’s arrival.

It’s early in the afternoon when he gets a text from Seungcheol.

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Do you want me to pick up something to eat on the way? (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ 

He’s about to reply with: I’m cooking. But instead types back.

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Do you want me to pick up something to eat on the way? (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ   
  
Yeah, your ass. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Yes, he just did that. Can he do that? Well—too late. He did.

Seungcheol’s reply is, very Seungcheol.

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Do you want me to pick up something to eat on the way? (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ   
  
Yeah, your ass. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)   
  
Oh you. (ง ◕ั⌑◕ั)ว ⁾ 

Jihoon grins and starts to prepare chicken parmesan.

The chicken’s in the oven and the salad is in the fridge by the time there’s a knock on his door.

When Jihoon opens the door, Seungcheol’s standing there, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a soft flannel, his hair hanging loose.

Jihoon’s eyes drink him in as though he were in a $6,000 suit.

“I’ve never seen you so casual.” Jihoon whispers reverently once the door is closed, running his palms up Seungcheol’s back and over his shoulders.

“I was wearing something else, but Jisoo teased me about trying too hard.” Seungcheol grumbles.

Jihoon scratches under his chin affectionately. “But we both know Jisoo’s an idiot.” He consoles.  

He tilts his head towards the box in Seungcheol’s hand then. “What’s that?”

“Oh-uhm. It’s dessert. You didn’t get to eat the dessert I made you the other day. So I just whipped something together. It’s cheesecake.” Seungcheol supplies, handing it over.

Jihoon wants to point out that he did in fact get to eat dessert on Wednesday, but suspects that joke might come off a little crass.

He pops open the lid container and peeks inside. It’s not one of those fridge cheesecakes that people make in minutes with cream cheese, whipped cream and sugar. It’s a _baked_ cheesecake. It’s even decorated. This took time.

“You just—whipped up a baked cheesecake?” Jihoon prods dryly.

Seungcheol looks at him through his fallen fringe, doe eyes going big and soft and making Jihoon feel gooey and guilty, “I bake when I’m nervous.” He murmurs.

Jihoon reaches up to pet the hair at the back of his neck soothingly. “Nervous? About coming here?”

Seungcheol shakes his head.

Jihoon is lost somewhere between the confusion and the slow slip-slide of silky hair between his fingers. Though he does notice the way Seungcheol can't quite look straight at him, and the way he's maybe, just a tiny bit red.

Jihoon takes a step back with surprising difficulty, and letting go of Seungcheol leaves him instantly bereft. He clears his throat twice. “What are you nervous about?”

Seungcheol frowns, the shape of it small and uncertain. “I’m not sure about this.” He says stiffly.

Jihoon considers the vast array of meanings that sentence could have, and eventually he decides on the most likely scenario: Seungcheol doesn’t want to continue this—this _thing_ they’ve started. He’s come to end it.

Which is the sort of the thing you do, when you're dating. Even if it is just the second date.

It's kind of cool that Seungcheol came and told him in person rather than sending a text though. And he bought cheesecake.

 _Break up cheesecake,_ Jihoon thinks sorrowfully.

That’s nice of him.

Jihoon probably won’t be able to look at cheesecake the same way again. He thinks he hates cheesecake now and what it represents. But it’s fine. He’s fine.

He leans against the door, and tries to give the impression that he's completely fine with it, which he is, but he thinks that's the sort of thing Seungcheol should know. The fact that he's totally and obviously fine with it.

He’s so fine right now.

Seungcheol on the other hand, does not look fine. He’s staring down at the tiles, forehead scrunched like he wants to say something and doesn't know how.

Jihoon isn't sure whether telling him to just spit it out will help or not.

“I watched a lot of porn.” Seungcheol says suddenly, and that interrupts Jihoon before he can nonchalance his way into a panic attack.

Out of the long list of things he was expecting Seungcheol to say, that wasn’t one of them. “What?”

Seungcheol blushes a pretty pink. “Just a few videos. So that I could get some tips. I’ve done stuff before, but after our date—I realised how much more experienced you were—and how there was a bunch of things I’ve never tried.” He says, offering the words out carefully, working his way towards an explanation.

Jihoon’s still confused.

“What?” He says again.

Jihoon can see the tension drain from Seungcheol’s body, sees his muscles unclenching. He looks slightly lost, cracked open just enough for Jihoon to glimpse at the worry he's bottled up. “After you left my place. I couldn’t sleep, I felt so— _good_. And—I felt good for the rest of the week and I—jerked off a lot thinking about it. I want to make you feel just as good, but I don’t exactly have experience.”

Jihoon wants Seungcheol to repeat the part where he jerked off thinking about him. He needs to hear that again, but his brain is only functioning enough to say, “What?”

Seungcheol shuffles from foot to foot anxiously. “But watching porn was a bad place to start. It just made me more nervous because those guys— _really_ know what they’re doing and I probably shouldn’t have tried to learn from them cause now I feel really inadequate.” He says, and manages to make it sound like the most terrible thing in the world.

Jihoon can’t imagine Seungcheol being inadequate about anything. He wants to tell him porn is just highly edited and unrealistic, but instead he finds himself saying. “What?”

“It’s just that—you have all this experience and finesse. I feel so clumsy.”  Seungcheol sulks.

Jihoon shakes his head to clear it. He can’t believe Seungcheol thinks he has sex finesse! Him!

Finesse is not usually a word associated with him, and definitely not during sex. He just does what feels good and isn’t sex all about trial and error anyway? He need to assure Seungcheol of that, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is, “What?”

He should probably stop saying that. He’s starting to sound like an untrained parrot.

“I want this so badly, I just hope I don’t disappoint you.” Seungcheol murmurs, words pulled up his throat like they hurt.

Which is...Jihoon doesn't have the faintest idea what to say. He's not even sure his brain still works.

Though Seungcheol's clearly expecting some sort of reply.

Jihoon’s forced to wonder if there's  _anyone_  whose life is more complicated than his.

“Seungcheol, that’s ridiculous.” He says finally and Seungcheol pouts at the slight mockery in his tone.

“You can’t compare what we do to what you see on porn. It’s porn for fucks sake. You never see what’s going on behind the scenes. Those guys get paid to have erections and they’re not even attracted to each other most of the time. It’s fake, all of it.  What _we_ do together is always going to be better for me, regardless of how unskilled you think you are because it’s real, because it’s you. For Christ’s sake I just need to think about you and I get horny. I’m having an erection right now and you’re just standing there holding a cheesecake.” It all comes out in a garbled rush, Jihoon's amazed it was even that coherent, embarrassing, but coherent.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow as if it he’s honestly surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. Look.” Jihoon says, pointing down at his crotch which is begging for attention and extremely happy to be included in the conversation.

_Class, Jihoon. Pure class._

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” Seungcheol coos, looking at the tent in Jihoon’s pants like it’s some kind of adorably puppy he wants to pet. And _oh boy_ , Jihoon _really_ didn’t that imagery in his head!

“Oh wow—it just twitched! I saw it twitch!” Seungcheol says excitedly.

Which-  _Jesus_ \- is not helping, really not helping.

Jihoon sighs, grabs his arm and drags him into the apartment. “Let’s get some food first.”

* * *

 

Jihoon directs Seungcheol to the couch, checks on dinner and grabs two beers out of the fridge.

When they hung out at Seungcheol’s, Jihoon had no qualms about sprawling all over the couch and Seungcheol’s bed while he was watching Seungcheol move around. It seemed normal to the dynamic their relationship had taken – yet when he walks into the living room he finds Seungcheol sitting stiffly up against the arm of the couch, his hands resting on his thighs.

He’s eyeballing everything like it might attack him.

Jihoon’s stride falters, and he blinks. He continues to the couch, handing Seungcheol the beer, smiling a little tightly.

“Thanks.” Seungcheol’s takes a small sip of his beer, glancing around the room with wide eyes.

Jihoon thinks he’s wearing a less _terrified_ and more _fascinated_ expression, but he’s not sure what’s fascinating Seungcheol so much.

Sure, the place was huge compared to Seungcheol’s apartment—but space isn’t everything. The Seoul skyline glittering a few miles beyond the huge wall of glass is the only captivating view the place has to offer, that—and the beautiful man sitting on his couch.

Jihoon spent a lot of money on his penthouse, but he’s always thought it was too sleek, clinical—unlived-in. He paid an interior decorator to fill the place with expensive prints, pieces and furnishings when he first moved in, but he doesn’t care much for them and he’s never touched up the décor himself since.

Unless, you count the single potted cactus by the balcony; the only hint of colour amongst the monochromatic black, white and grey. He thinks about buying another cactus to keep Cactus The First, company.

Jihoon takes a sip of his beer and sets it down on the coffee table. Seungcheol turns to him, his eyes more alert, as if he’s just noticed that Jihoon is standing in front of him.

He moves to set his beer bottle down on the table too, but winces at the noise it makes and quickly picks it up again.

“You have a nice place.” Seungcheol says nervously.

Jihoon narrows his eyes a fraction. “It’s really not. Apart from the view, it’s kinda dull. But it doesn’t matter cause I’m hardly here.”

“But it’s big—and shiny.” Seungcheol gestures expansively. His elbow knocks against lamp on the side table and he yelps as he tries to right it quickly. “Sorry, I’m sorry about that. I’m really clumsy and I’m going to break something, I know it.” He panics.

 _Oh._ Jihoon grins but quickly schools his expression.

He leans over and begins to slowly push an ornament resting on the coffee table. Seungcheol’s eyes widen as it nears the edge, but Jihoon continues to push it until it topples over and smashes on the tiled floor.

Seungcheol is utterly horrified, like he thinks he’s going to get the blame for that even though they both just watched Jihoon do it.

“That was the most expensive thing in this room.” Jihoon says flatly. It isn’t, but he’s trying to make a point.

Seungcheol looks like he wants to cry and maybe run out and buy superglue to put it back together. “Then why did you push it off the table!” He almost sobs.

Jihoon lifts a hand and gestures at his face. “Do I look like I give a shit that it’s broken?”

Seungcheol blinks at him. “No.”

“That’s because I don’t. It’s just an ornament. So—please Cheollie, relax. Or shall I break more things to make you feel comfortable?” He says, reaching over to push another ornament.

Seungcheol scrambles in his seat and gets there first, holding the ornament against his chest protectively. “Stop breaking things you maniac! You made your point.”

Jihoon laughs and instinctively reaches down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Good. Come now, dinner’s ready.”

* * *

 

After dessert (which Seungcheol watches Jihoon eat with wide, unblinking eyes, seeking his approval), they end up tangled together on Jihoon’s big leather couch, making out in the faint, eternal light of the city night sky.

It's easy, much easier than it should be, to push Seungcheol's thighs apart with his knees, weight settled over him in a way that leaves them pressed together hard enough that rocking against his erection is instinctive, helpless.

Jihoon’s mouth swallows the gasp that leaves Seungcheol’s lips. His weight settles over Seungcheol, commanding and undeniable, skin warm and touching Seungcheol in all the right places.

Seungcheol moans, then pushes him back a little. “Hnn—Jihoon, wait.”

Jihoon leans back as Seungcheol's fingers push rough and impatient at his belt to find the buckle, drawing it open in harsh movements, eyes lifting like he expects at any moment to be stopped. When Jihoon does nothing, his fingers fold in the loosened fabric and draw his pants down his thighs, releasing his cock into the cool air.

Seungcheol doesn’t wait for him to start second guessing, like he second guesses everything else. Instead he slides off the couch, shifting to kneel between Jihoon’s legs.

Jihoon thinks he makes a truly embarrassing noise, though he doesn't mean to. He reacts to the faint press of fingers into his skin and to the warm slide of breath over his cock. There’s a strange shuddering, deep in his chest, and it feels like greed.

It all feels too good to be true. Seungcheol sitting obediently between his spread thighs—is _probably_ the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Jihoon watches the slow, shallow rush of breath and the flutter of eyelashes. He understands now that this is something that Seungcheol’s thought about, wanted. The way everything is shaken and new but determined.

 “Can I?” Seungcheol pants against Jihoon's knee.

“Fuck—yes. Of course.” Jihoon says.

He inhales sharply at the first touch of Seungcheol’s fingers, head falling back and eyes fluttering closed. Seungcheol wraps his fingers around the shaft, pulls the foreskin back to expose the head, just enough to rub a fingertip in a circle around the slit, slow and teasing.

Jihoon lifts his head to watch as Seungcheol holds him in tight, shaking fingers, leans in on a sigh, and opens his mouth around him.  Seungcheol tongues at the underside of his cock, and Jihoon has to take in a breath, hold it, hold on to the fierce and sudden urge to press up into the welcoming heat.

His own mouth waters as Seungcheol works his tongue around the soft, wet tip, pulls almost all the way off and then slides back down, messy with spit. He’s got one hand wrapped around the shaft, slowly tugging. 

There's a clumsiness, a desperation in the awkward, wet slide. Where Seungcheol tries to find how best to do this, fingers spreading and moving to grasp a little higher. Then he closes his mouth around Jihoon’s cock again, enveloping it in sweet heat as he presses the length of his tongue up against him and sucks sharply.

Jihoon bucks under the movements, curling his toes. He decides then and there that people who say there is too much of a good thing, obviously have not picked the right thing in the first place, because Seungcheol’s soft lips and hot tongue enclosing around his cock is the closest thing to heaven a sinner like him is ever going to get.

“Oh—fuck—Cheol.” Jihoon forces out on an exhale as Seungcheol takes him in deeper with each slide down. He swallows and swallows again as Seungcheol’s throat work around his cock.

He can’t help himself from touching Seungcheol’s face, feeling the side of his cheek and running his hand through his hair, and when Seungcheol hums the most pleased and contented noise at that, Jihoon tries not to ruin it by choking him as his hips jerk out of his control.

Jihoon touches the back of Seungcheol’s head, lightly at first. When Seungcheol groans approval, he rakes his fingers through the hair at Seungcheol’s nape, then cups a firm hand over the back of his head, pressing. The gesture is both affectionate and exploitive, and it triggers a cascade of pure pornography in Jihoon’s brain. 

Jihoon's fingers lift and trail the stretched curve of Seungcheol's mouth, every slick push leaving it wetter and more obscene. He lets them slip in alongside himself, feels the warmth of Seungcheol's mouth and the wet slide of his tongue.

He thinks he wants to ruin the red curve of Seungcheol’s mouth. To make it his, in some greedy and indefinable way.

"Such a good boy Cheollie, you're doing so well." He groans approvingly.

Seungcheol picks up his efforts then, applying more suction, dipping his tongue into the slit, humming around the crown of Jihoon’s cock as it slips across his palate.

Jihoon feels himself react to the increase in sensations with a barely-there twitch of his hips. He slides across Seungcheol's tongue, pushes deeper, feels the softness of his throat, feels Seungcheol shudder and open and take more, throat constricting around his length. Careful and uncertain but willing to give Jihoon whatever he demands.

Jihoon shouldn't find that so— _erotic_.

He inhales, hand digging into Seungcheol's hair. His fingers catch, and tighten. Just enough to hold, to manipulate, to tilt Seungcheol’s head up to look at him, eyes wide and dark. It's a strange sort of power, new and unexpected and visceral. Strange intimacy of innocence and bright red obscenity.

But there's something about the sight of Seungcheol’s lips stretched around his cock, staring up at him through his lashes, that demands greed. He digs his fingers into the soft curls of Seungcheol’s hair and holds him still. There's a flicker of surprise on Seungcheol’s face, a shudder and the thick flex of a swallow, and then...obedience. The long, wet slide of Seungcheol's mouth is in his control.

Jihoon thrusts his hips up, slow and dirty and the fact that Seungcheol doesn't resist, that he simply opens up and takes it makes Jihoon groan deeply. He instantly reviews that _this_ , perhaps, is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

It's intoxicating.

He fucks up into Seungcheol’s mouth, determined to paint him in his cum. He wants to see Seungcheol covered in it, is compelled to see it. The edge so close it feels like drowning every time Seungcheol’s lips slip around the thick crown of his cock, hearing the beautiful, hungry little noises when he hits the back of his throat.

He feels that familiar tight clench in his balls and pulls back. Seungcheol makes a low, quiet sound of breathless loss, eyelashes fluttering in confusion when Jihoon doesn’t thrust back into his mouth.

“Jihoon—but-“ Seungcheol starts, but quiets as Jihoon strokes the back of his neck.

The touch of Jihoon's own hand is strange, fingers slipping on the sensitive wet length of his own erection. But he's too close for it to matter, too close to do anything but breathe and tilt Seungcheol's face and watch his eyes flutter shut and his mouth open.

Like he knows what Jihoon wants, like he wants this too.

“Please—Jihoon.” Seungcheol moans, letting his mouth fall open wide and pressing closer.

“Oh-fuck— _yes_.”

And then Jihoon's drowning in the sensation of his own release, coming thick and hot on Seungcheol's face. It hits the curve of his mouth and the flat of his tongue and the sloping edge of his chin. Pale and shockingly obscene on him.

Seungcheol makes a noise that sounds helpless and broken, but he manages an open-mouthed grin even as he chases the stream of cum that doesn’t quite paint his face, and seals his lips around Jihoon’s cock to milk the rest.

Jihoon’s chest rises and falls as he watches Seungcheol lap and lick him back into a semi hard state. There’s cum smeared on his flushed cheeks, on his chin, in his lashes. In another life, Jihoon might have apologized for that but for now, **this** has become the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Jihoon can still feel his own trembling echoes of pleasure when his fingers lift and slide into the wetness on Seungcheol's face, drags stickiness across to his mouth and the warm flat of his tongue. Seungcheol groans weakly and twitches, and closes his mouth around them. He sucks and hums around Jihoon’s fingers like he doesn’t want to waste a drop—like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Jihoon’s never wanted to kiss him harder. He sits up quickly and leans forward, lays his hand on Seungcheol’s nape, rough, because he can, because he can't quite help it. There's a brief, strange moment, oddly cautious, where they look in each other’s eyes, work out how to be close, how to take each other's weight and touch each other. Before Jihoon fists a hand in the delicate material of Seungcheol's shirt, crushing it in bunches while the other hand catches his chin and pulls it up, tips it just right and kisses him.

Seungcheol remains still through the kiss. Like he doesn’t know, or doesn't remember, how this goes. Like he's left it behind for higher and much less visceral pursuits. Jihoon bites at the soft edge of Seungcheol's mouth, finds the taste of himself still lingering on Seungcheol’s lips and decides he likes it.

When Jihoon finally breaks the kiss, they're both breathing hard, and his gaze can't seem to settle between Seungcheol’s wide eyes and his kiss-swollen lips. “Your turn.”

* * *

 

Jihoon has never taken anyone's clothes off before...well except for his own of course.

Under pressure may not be the best time for a trial run because it turns out to be more complicated than you'd think.

Buttons are different this way round. You'd think buttons would be easy, some sort of button undoing sense memory that your fingers get so used to you can do it without looking.

Or perhaps that's only your own buttons.

Or perhaps the task, when reversed, becomes fiendishly complex in ways only people that live in mirrors would know about. Jihoon is not a mirror person.

Either way, buttons are terribly complicated, especially when they're all different sizes and shapes.

Buttons on sleeves are complicated too, they never seem to want to fuck off.

Seungcheol's sleeves are entirely too fond of him, they seem to want to cling almost indecently and at one point Jihoon’s hand gets stuck, which is probably humiliating, and definitely unhelpful.

"I'm not very good at this," he admits sadly to the fabric of Seungcheol’s sleeve. Perhaps if he sounds pathetic enough, the clothes will take pity on him and shed themselves?

Probably not.

The sleeve does eventually cooperate, with or without verbal urging, blackmail, numerous expletives and his professional weight of sheer frustrated confusion.

“Oh—for fuck’s sake. Who even invented clothes!” Jihoon is fairly certain he's gone wrong somewhere when he looks up to find that in all his struggles, he’s only undone **two** of Seungcheol’s buttons.

Which is frankly, unfair, when it feels like he’s been undressing him for hours.  

"Why is this so hard? _Concentrate_ Jihoon." he tells himself furiously, because clearly getting Seungcheol naked is now an emergency situation. He might have to phone a friend.

Seungcheol isn’t being helpful.

He’s amused, yes. Helpful? No.

He’s unashamedly snickering at Jihoon’s inability to strip him of his clothing, and perhaps he’s forgotten that not everybody takes their clothes off for a living.

Jihoon grumbles disapprovingly, the silences him with a kiss. Seungcheol gasps, surprised at the suddenness of it, the raw ferocity of the kiss.

After half a minute struggling with one tiny button, Jihoon makes a frustrated noise and stops kissing him.

"Seungcheol, this is intolerable. Never wear clothes again."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. "It's not even a tight button, just pull it open."

Jihoon huffs annoyance, fingers slow and strong but not quite managing to slip the buttonhole clear.

"I can't do it," he says fiercely, annoyed at the admission that he's failed at something. He looks briefly sideways towards the kitchen, where a knife stand sits on the table. Seungcheol follows his gaze and his eyes widen.

"No," Seungcheol says simply.

Jihoon flashes him a look that he hopes conveys how unhappy he is about being told what he can and cannot slice with a knife. But then he huffs irritation and goes back to trying to untangle Seungcheol’s shirt buttons.

"I hope you realise that when I remove every single, irritating piece of clothing I'm not letting you put them on again." The low warning tone of his voice tells Seungcheol that's not a threat, simply an admission of exactly what's going to happen.

Seungcheol giggles, slightly breathless. "I think I’m going to have to take back that comment about you having finesse." He says, eyebrow quirking in a challenge.

Jihoon grits his teeth, but his fingers return to the half-vanquished button he abandoned in the instant before, and he resumes his progress, moving from button to button until at last the shirt hangs open.

"Beautiful," Jihoon murmurs, eyes downcast to take in the view. The word feels like a purr in his throat. He leans over Seungcheol, presses him further into the couch as he ducks to suck a pert nipple into his mouth.

He swirls the tip of his tongue against it and Seungcheol bucks. “You’re so sensitive, aren’t you Cheollie? Hmm—yeah you are.” Jihoon purrs darkly.

He pulls the piercing between his teeth, tests it with a gentle bite before slowly pulling his head back, tugging the nipple gently. Oh, fuck,” Seungcheol breaths, hands tightening into the couch cushions. Jihoon exhales a laugh into his skin and does it a second time, then a third.

Seungcheol turns his face into the couch, breath coming shaky and harsh as Jihoon teases one nipple, till it’s pink and sore and tender, then moves to the other.

“One day, I’m going to make you come just from playing with these.” Jihoon promises, rubbing his thumbs over the sensitized heads.

He scratches a nail across one, then flicks it. “I’m going to spend ages just teasing them, licking them, sucking them till you come. I won’t let you touch yourself.” He murmurs, stroking Seungcheol’s forearm where he’s thrown it across his face, head twisted to the side and trying to escape the sensations even as he keens and surges upwards.

When he leans back, Seungcheol makes a small, unhappy sound. Jihoon smirks, ghosts a touch down Seungcheol's chest, his stomach—slips mischievous fingers across the bulge in his jeans and traces teasing patterns into the heated flesh between Seungcheol’s thighs. Seungcheol inhales sharply, and his legs spread wider almost of their own volition.

“Tell me Cheollie,” Jihoon murmurs, the hints of a predatory smile twisting at the corner of his mouth, “What do you want?”

“Fuck me.” Seungcheol breathes. It's barely more than a whisper.

A ragged moment passes silent between them, and then Jihoon leans in close. He claims a quick kiss that ends before Seungcheol has a chance to catch up, then smiles a breathless smile.

"Bed," Jihoon says. He wraps his fingers in the waistband of Seungcheol’s pants and tugs him upwards.

* * *

 

They make it to the bedroom, _somehow_. And even though it only takes a few minutes to relocate, Jihoon is already planning on re-arranging his furniture so that there are beds in every fucking room!

Jihoon means to move quickly and simultaneously as Seungcheol strips down, retrieves what he needs from the drawer in the far corner and meet Seungcheol on the bed with as little time wasted as possible.

Instead he finds himself watching as Seungcheol works the denim down his hips—as Seungcheol methodically tosses aside every last shred of clothing and finally straightens to meet Jihoon's eyes.

Seungcheol backs all of three steps to the bed without breaking eye contact, and drops to the mattress in a smooth, flawless motion.

He lies there silently, propped up on his elbows; his flushed cock hard against his stomach, legs spread invitingly, face upturned and expectant. Jihoon's breath lodges in his throat at the sight. Undiluted want twists through him, shivering beneath his skin.

Seungcheol’s so fucking beautiful. So _perfect_.

Jihoon can't stop staring, he’s pretty sure **THIS** is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He realises he’ll be reviewing that opinion time and time again, the more he discovers Seungcheol.

It's the hint of a smile that finally stirs Jihoon to motion—that and a soft whisper of his name that he might have imagined.

He moves for the corner bureau now, second drawer from the top, and quickly finds what he's looking for. It's half empty, but it should be more than sufficient.

"That bottle’s almost empty Jihoonie," Seungcheol teases as Jihoon draws near. His voice sounds mostly steady, but a slight quaver slips through.

"You can blame yourself for that," Jihoon retorts mildly. He sheds his belt quickly and hurries to remove his pants, his shirt, his socks.

"That’s cool. As long as I can blame you for all the double A batteries I go through every week." Seungcheol says. His tone is light, but his eyes are ravenous as he watches Jihoon undress.

"That’s—wait. What do you mean batteries?" Jihoon says, naked now and closing the last of the distance between them.

Seungcheol giggles and flips himself over onto his hands and knees, drops his head and then lowers his chest to the mattress, ass in the air.

Jihoon has to consciously remind his lungs that oxygen is a necessity because _**FUUCCCKKKKKK.**_

His chest feels tight as he looks down at the display, then Seungcheol looks over his shoulder and wiggles his butt and that’s all it takes.

Jihoon spends what feels like an hour just running kisses up Seungcheol’s spine and trying to successfully open the lube with his too-shaky hands. He can’t speak, can’t do anything but lose himself in the feel of Seungcheol; in the hot, tight grip that steals all his breath and all his senses as he stretches him open, in the way Seungcheol moans and shivers when Jihoon adds more fingers.

When Jihoon finally thrusts inside, he breaks his silence with a messy groan, curling heavily over Seungcheol’s back as his hips rock forward and he slips deeper into the body beneath him.

Jihoon can hear Seungcheol's breath coming in short, high gasps with every inch, and when Jihoon twists to look he finds Seungcheol’s head thrown back, his neck arched temptingly, his mouth open on a soundless shout.

“Fuck—Cheollie, you feel amazing.”

It’s not quite right at first, his body just slightly off in alignment before he pulls back, eases forward—breath catching, eyes closing,  _everything_  tightening. And Seungcheol, beneath him, gives a surprised, sighing little sound.

“Yes. Jihoon, _hnnn_ , more! I can take, please, _hnnn_ —I need,”

Jihoon's hips snap forward without letting him finish, bottoming out in a single sharp thrust that draws a ragged, beautiful cry from Seungcheol’s throat and a rumbling growl of pleasure from Jihoon.

He goes still then because he has to—not only for Seungcheol, but for his own self-control.

He needs this to last more than five seconds, god damn it! He trembles, his fingers digging unintended bruises into Seungcheol's hips as he adjusts to the tight, perfect heat of Seungcheol's body.

“Oh—god Jihoon, I--” Seungcheol moans.

There's a solid break in the trail of words, something sudden and shaken. The one, bright moment of silence when there's just a soft exhale and the slow, careful bend back into him. The enormity of the weight of him, pushed in deep and heavy. It’s exquisite, a low clench of fire and sensation that Jihoon has no words for, driving in deep and feeling everything in bright, sharp, clarity.

The silence draws out, leads into the next slow pull and push.

"Okay?" Jihoon says breathlessly. The word more for him, perhaps, than the man underneath him. The man he's inside.

“Yes—Sir.” Seungcheol says. The words were Jihoon’s own, from some time ago; the hitch in breath is Seungcheol's own addition.

Jihoon curves over him, hips moving in a steady, hard shove, fingers dug in wherever they can find purchase on soft skin. The wide curve of a shoulder, the soft arch of a hipbone.

"You, you— _hnn_ —feels good," Seungcheol manages the next time Jihoon slides back.

Jihoon’s lips seek out his shoulder, teeth nipping at the delicate skin of Seungcheol’s nape as he involuntarily clamps around him.

Slowly, Jihoon works him up to it, but he doesn't hold anything back either.

Seungcheol ruts back against him, hedonistic, walls clenching around Jihoon, tight and encouraging, as if he couldn't ask for a better feeling. And he makes noise, hot little scraps of sound each time his body bows back, as though even now all he wants is to get closer, as if it isn’t enough that Jihoon is already touching him damn near everywhere, fucking him and kissing him and lapping over the curve of his shoulder.

Jihoon tries to be gentle—he  _needs_  to be gentle—but he's too far gone. Or maybe it's Seungcheol who's too far gone, feeding Jihoon’s own fracturing control with each moan, each gasp, each sob of _“Jihoon!—Please!—Yes!—More!”_

Or maybe it's both of them, the sensations and feelings amplified between them making it impossible for Jihoon to do anything but fill Seungcheol's body with his cock and this desperate rhythm. Deep thrusts, rough and unforgiving, but the sounds escaping Seungcheol's throat are shocky with pleasure.

The air is saturated with iterations of “fuck, ah” and shuddering groans and deep, soul-sucking gasps. 

“ _AHH_ —Jihoon!— _Jihoon_ — _yes_! Harder!”

Temptation is too close and too hot to resist and Jihoon takes that control and uses it. He picks up the pace of his thrusts, digs his knees into the mattress and really goes for it. Hard, bruising lunges, until he can feel the shudder and catch of Seungcheol’s every breath, the messy slap of skin on skin, until he’s sure Seungcheol's mouth is open and drooling and panting.

He could choke on how good this feels, on how it could end at any moment, on how he’s sure something like this was never meant for him to have and keep but it doesn’t matter at the moment because he’ll fucking steal it if he has to.

Seungcheol becomes lost the moment he reaches around and takes his hard cock in his palm, slow slides that are a strange counterpoint to everything else's beautiful and brutal efficiency.

When Seungcheol is close, he reaches back, groping blindly until Jihoon catches on and curves around to slide their mouths together. It’s messy, more like groaning against each other’s mouths than kissing at all, and the slow tightening of every muscle is the only warning he gets before Seungcheol’s comes, hot and sudden over Jihoon’s curled fist.

Jihoon, when he follows, leaves bite marks on Seungcheol’s shoulder and doesn’t give a damn. There is nothing but that vicious stab of need that burns everything it touches. It pushes them together, obscenely, tightly and Jihoon can't stop the way he digs his fingers in, the way he pushes into that clasping heat till everything is bright and sharp and - melting.

Even as he comes, he rolls his hips in tight half circles, pumping himself deeply into Seungcheol. He doesn’t stop until Seungcheol is breathing in unsteady shivers of air, until he  _owns_  him.

* * *

 

When he pulls out and slumps on the pillows, he doesn’t know how long it’s been or how many ridiculous things he’s gritted out in the heat of the moment, only that Seungcheol is turning and planting a wet kiss on his cheek and collapsing on his chest and making him writhe around like an idiot because he’s crushing the air out of his lungs.

Jihoon’s never been super cuddly after sex—but for Seungcheol—he’ll make every exception.

For once, he wants to savour the easy satisfaction of somebody in his bed—of Seungcheol's lips parting obediently for the kiss Jihoon leans forward to claim, and Seungcheol's tongue teasing hotly alongside Jihoon's.

Sex with Seungcheol isn’t like anything he’s ever known. Even now Jihoon still can’t keep from taking, craving, wanting even more. Jihoon reaches for him, threads his fingers through Seungcheol's hair, and Seungcheol hums a low, satisfied sound into his mouth.

“You don’t have a clue what you do to me,” he sighs, after he’s found his voice again, lying sticky and sprawled and entirely at peace with the world.

Seungcheol gives him a loopy, fucked-out grin and tucks his face into Jihoon’s neck. "Same." Jihoon’s heart jerks in a way that feels positively lethal.

“Can we—“ Seungcheol begins, then his voice trails off before he's finished the thought, gaze going suddenly, unexpectedly distant. Jihoon blinks down at him for a moment, confused and surprised, waiting for him to resume.

"Cheol?" he says when impatience wins out.

Seungcheol blinks, eyes focusing slowly on Jihoon's face.

"I can go—if you want me to. I know you have work in the morning, I don’t have to stay the night if you’re not comfortable with that." Seungcheol mumbles quietly.

Jihoon frowns, but can't help but laugh. He smothers it in the smooth skin of Seungcheol's throat, which stretches into the perfect angle to bite down on. Seungcheol makes a low noise under the press of teeth.

"You’re not going anywhere, Cheollie. I didn’t just invest in silk bedsheets to sleep alone." he murmurs against Seungcheol’s skin, and Seungcheol sighs happily.

Jihoon curls up behind him, hands pulling on Seungcheol's waist, until he has him exactly where he needs him. It occurs to Jihoon, belatedly, that he's spooning Seungcheol. In a way that might be described, by some, as over-enthusiastic.

In fact, he’s pretty sure this would be termed as _aggressive_ spooning. He’s aggressively spooning Seungcheol like he might roll off the bed into the unknown if Jihoon doesn’t spoon him within an inch of his life.

Seungcheol, thankfully, doesn’t seem to mind. He scoots back into the embrace, more than happy with that idea.

“Yanno—you should be the small spoon here. Just saying.” Seungcheol says. Jihoon can hear the smile in his voice, the way it warms the words with a low simmer.

Jihoon sighs and lays his fingers on the jumping warmth of the other man's stomach, drawing faint, ticklish circles there. “Are you questioning my big spooning abilities?” he murmurs, lips deliberately brushing Seungcheol’s ear with the words

Seungcheol shudders and tilts his head a fraction to look at him. “No—you’re—surprisingly good at it.” He manages, voice low and rough.

“ ** _Surprisingly_**!” Jihoon guffaws, tickling the sensitive skin along Seungcheol’s waistline. There's a tiny giggle, an involuntary buck and a whine of protest but he still ends up securing his position as the big spoon.

This, Jihoon thinks, is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Ahhhhh, it was good to smut.  
> 2) A special thank you to Ara, for being a great smut ideas soundboard. I have lots of smutty ideas and it helps to have people to bounce ideas off :)  
> 3) I can just imagine Jihoon having a super sleek penthouse he doesn't give a shit about and Seungcheol being so nervous about breaking something. He probably does break things by accident and gets super guilty and maybe tried to distract Jihon before he see's them ;)  
> 4) Also--cough--Seungcheol using lots of batteries. Spoiler for upcoming chapters..shhh. I'm bad at keeping secrets.  
> 5) Feedback appreciated as always. Hope you enjoy reading.


	12. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seungcheol is a tease....but you knew that already.

Jihoon’s asleep. He likes being asleep. He's warm and his sheets are soft and he's not crazy about changing that any time soon.

Except, his arm hurts.

The rest of his body feels great, especially his dick which is super enthusiastic right now, but his left arm is protesting that it’s uncomfortable. It’s completely numb too, probably because he's slept on it or something.

Or, because _Seungcheol’s_ sleeping on it; cheek pressed into Jihoon’s bicep, facing Jihoon.

Now that’s he’s a little more awake, he can see that Seungcheol’s using his left arm as a pillow and it's super fucking adorable.

Suddenly, Jihoon doesn’t _care_ about his left arm anymore. His left arm is just going to have to suck it up.

In fact, he’s considering _amputating_ it, just so Seungcheol can continue to use it as a pillow and sleep so peacefully.

There's a soft, sleep sigh and Seungcheol rolls over a little. Jihoon’s arm is freed and immediately stops aching as soon as the blood flow seeps back into the deadened limb.

Jihoon exhales shaky delicious relief and relaxes. No need for an amputation after all it seems.

Probably for the best. Things _are_ easier with two arms.

* * *

 

Jihoon can't quite bring himself to have a shower. It's not a matter of efficiency, and it's not because he’s trying to get to work as quickly as possible. It’s _actually_ because he’d rather spend the time he _would_ be showering—staring at Seungcheol fast asleep in his bed.

Jihoon gently brushes at the crazy mess of hair along Seungcheol’s brow, runs a finger down the slope of his nose. His skin is so warm under Jihoon’s fingertips, and he smells so nice.

He considers the adorable way Seungcheol’s mouth parts, lax in slumber, and he feels a visceral tug somewhere around his heart. It’s difficult, repressing the urge to lean forward and press their lips together.

Eventually, his second alarm buzzes (he silenced the first one) indicating Jihoon has barely enough time to brush his teeth and get dressed. Seungcheol makes a lot of sleepy, protesting noises when Jihoon extracts himself and rolls out of bed, but he’s snuffing into the pillow and drifting off again as Jihoon pads into the bathroom.

Jihoon's dressed and already halfway to the kitchen in record time. The kitchen is cold but the coffee, when it finally comes out dark and rich, is hot.

When he carries it through the apartment Seungcheol is still a model of gorgeous untidiness across his bed. Claiming space and tangles of sheet like it's his mission to invade as much of Jihoon's bed as possible.

Jihoon wishes more than ever that he could capture this moment in a photograph or a video, not that he’s ever be able to forget it. But he wants to frame this on a wall somewhere, for everyone to see how thoroughly he fucked Seungcheol last night.

A selca with Seungcheol's sleepy body would be in poor taste he thinks. But nothing stops him from standing at the foot of the bed, watching Seungcheol with and arm resting on his hip like some kind of conqueror, surveying the spoils of war.  

A snort tells Jihoon that Seungcheol isn't as asleep as he'd thought, and is more than amused by Jihoon mooning at him at what he would probably consider an ungodly hour. An hour when only monks and fishermen should be awake. AND CONQUERORS!

Eventually Jihoon's reverent staring manages to get Seungcheol to roll over and acknowledge him. He wakes by degrees, smiling at Jihoon with an unguarded, soft curve to his mouth. 

Seungcheol rubs a hand over his eyes in a soft, sleepy way that Jihoon absolutely does not find cute. He yawns and gives Jihoon a curious look, before he seems to register that Jihoon is fully dressed and drinking coffee.

“You’re dressed? What time is it?” He asks, glancing around the room.

Jihoon checks his watch. “7.30.”

“Oh _god!—Do_ you have to _build_ the road before you drive your car over it?” Seungcheol mutters, sleep-rough, but with a hint of humor.

Jihoon chuckles “I’m just an early riser, and morning traffic is a bitch.”

Seungcheol grunts like he disputes that fact. “Give me a sec and I’ll be out of your way.” He says, and turns to roll of the bed, but Jihoon reaches out, touches his hip, and it makes Seungcheol stop.

“No—stay. Sleep some more. You need sleep.” Jihoon says, patting his hip gently.

“I can’t _just—stay_ here in your bed and sleep while you go to work.” Seungcheol complains, voice a cheerful slur.

Jihoon blinks at him. “Why not?”

Seungcheol’s wearing his ‘sensible adult’ face now, like Jihoon’s suggesting something ridiculous. “Cause your leaving for work soon. And it’s not fair—for you.”

Jihoon takes a considering sip of his coffee. “Hmm—you need rest after you performed so well last night. And imagining you wrapped up in my bedsheets will help me get me through the morning.” He offers.

There’s the shadow of a dimple in Seungcheol's cheek, a sheepish not-quite smile as he buries his face into a pillow bashfully.

Jihoon reaches out to smooth a hand down his back. “The kitchens fully stocked. Help yourself to _whatever._ I wish I could have breakfast in bed with you—but—maybe next time.”

Seungcheol makes a rough noise of amusement. “Hmm—next time? I’m working two nights in a row—but, I’m off Wednesday night—if you _wanna….”_ He trails off, pushing the bedsheet down over his hips suggestively.

Jihoon's dick twitches traitorously in response. He considers his schedule over the next week and tries not to let his eyes roam over the soft curve of Seungcheol's ass as the fabric drapes down. 

His schedule is packed this week, but he can shuffle a few meetings around. Meeting Seungcheol here would make the most sense, but with his unpredictable plans....

He reaches to pull open a bedside drawer and fishes out a spare key. “I have back to back meetings with clients and associates every evening this week. They can run pretty late—“

“Okay.” Seungcheol murmurs. He’s staring off to the side, already drawing the bedsheet back up to cover himself. There isn’t any ire in his voice, just disappointment.

“—So take this and let yourself in.” Jihoon says, placing a key in the palm of Seungcheol’s hand.

Seungcheol blinks groggily at the key, palm flexing around it. Then his eyes focus, slowly, and something in his face shutters, almost imperceptibly. Almost.

“You, you don’t have to give me this—I can just wait outside till you get here.” Seungcheol flusters, his ears stained red at the tips.

This is the point, Jihoon knows, where he could just make a flippant remark, take the key back and leave. But instead, his eyes lock on Seungcheol’s, and he raises an eyebrow, and says, “It’s just a key Cheol. If we're not seeing each other at the club anymore, here makes the most sense. You can stop over here after your shifts and it's closer than going back to your apartment. I don’t know when I’ll be back and it would be stupid—not to mention _rude_ of me to make you wait outside till I get home. Besides, I’d rather come home to find you lying here—just like this.”

For several leaden seconds, Seungcheol doesn’t reply to that at all. Then he’s letting go of the sheets and reaching out, threading their fingers together again, the same absurdly chaste way he'd done last night before they drifted off.

Only this time he leans in, keeps leaning in until Jihoon can feel him smiling, the soft curve of his mouth against Jihoon’s cheek.

Jihoon’s free hand goes slipping through his hair and down the back of his neck, and Seungcheol relaxes into the touch with a sigh, “Okay.” He whispers with a smile.

Jihoon smiles back, caught in the affectionate heat of Seungcheol’s gaze. He feels an answering warmth surging in his chest—and, okay, yes, in his pants, too. And maybe it’s stupid, giving his key to a stripper he’s been on barely two dates with, even if said guy has the prettiest face and a seriously rocking body, but what’s that saying about diamonds in the rough?

“Ok—I better go.” Jihoon says, petting a hand over Seungcheol’s hair once more, before standing and heading towards the door.

 _"Cherry Tomato."_ Seungcheol croons. It's soft and low, like he’s reminding Jihoon’s of something. When Jihoon turns, Seungcheol is propped up on one elbow, looking more awake and just as beautiful.

“Gonna just leave without a kiss goodbye?” Seungcheol tuts, a small pout on his lips that’s… rather unfortunately effective.

Jihoon holds back a grin, sighs through his nose and turns back, knee shifting in the sheets. He sets his coffee down on the night table and leans over, uses one of the folds of sheet to pin Seungcheol still.

“Go back to sleep Cheollie.” he says in a low, soft voice, leaning in to kiss Seungcheol’s cheek, only for Seungcheol to cup his jaw at the last minute and kiss him full on the mouth, one perfectly firm, closed-mouth kiss that nonetheless thrills Jihoon to his toes.

"Tease." Jihoon smirks, lifting off the bed before his control can slip.

He pulls his suit jacket out of the wardrobe and slips it on, winking at Seungcheol before leaving.

 

* * *

 

When Wednesday comes around, Jihoon’s meeting drags by at a snails pace.

He’s attended a lot of these firm meetings in the past, and they’re pretty long and boring and this one is no different. To begin with, at least.

When his phone vibrates in his jacket pocket, he doesn’t think twice about fishing it out; he’s expecting some case updates from his team of legal aides.

What he gets instead is a Snapchat message from Seungcheol.

Jihoon stares at the photograph and makes a noise, something soft and choked, fingers curling around his phone.

Fuck Seungcheol is so beautiful.

He wants to reply in kind, but he wouldn't dare try for a snap of his own. Knowing his luck, the flash would go off at magnificent proportions and everyone in the boardroom would turn to look at him and perhaps make comments about confidentiality. Besides, Seungcheol probably doesn't want a picture of him looking angry in a suit wearing indifferent pose #2- _I'm here because I have to be, but this meeting and everyone in this room is beneath me._

Instead, he swipes the Snapchat app away and opens his regular messaging app to type back a reply.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
You certainly are ♥‿♥ 

It took him 5000 years to pick the right emoji to accompany that message and he still feels like a dork for using it. Hopefully, Seungcheol will at least appreciate his emoji efforts.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Good. I ordered them in especially for you ಠ‿↼ 

Jun sitting across from him notices his slight gasp when he opens the next picture. He quirks an eyebrow at Jihoon and says nothing.

Jihoon gives him indifferent pose #1- _There is nothing to see here. Move along. Look, there's a bird outside that window._

The picture is so obvious, so clichéd, that it’s almost shameful to be reeled in by its dubious allure. But, sure enough, Jihoon feels his ears heating up.

He finds himself wanting to send Seungcheol a dirty message in reply, such as  _Thanks for the pic. Incidentally, I jerked off last night and thought about your mouth_. The urge to do so is strong but he refrains, his chest fluttering with reckless flirting and wanting.

When he doesn't reply, Seungcheol sends him another Snapchat after a few minutes.

Jihoon leans back and gives the woman trying to peek at his phone a cold look. Flirting back and forth with Seungcheol is something Jihoon can easily have, readily available to him yet he still finds it important to keep it under control.

He quickly swipes out of the app and opens his messaging app again, quickly typing his response

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Wonderful. Now get comfortable because I think this meeting will push past 7pm ರ_ರ

There. That should do it.

That should stop the messages. 

Seungcheol will probably get bored and turn the television on, entertain himself somehow. Jihoon doesn't need distractions.

He needs to focus because the senior associate just made a very important point about...

His phone buzzes again.

Jihoon swallows back a groan as he takes in that precious pout. Damn those sinful lips. He can't look at them without remembering how his cock looked sliding into Seungcheol's mouth. It’s like he’s suddenly become some sex addict. Or more of one anyway.

He’s finding it harder and harder (and  _harder_ , incidentally) to make little things like self-respect matter, and he finds himself giving in to the impish rake.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
You fucking gorgeous tease ب_ب I hope so, I would hate to think of you starting the fun without me ب_ب 

He can’t help the grin that spreads over his face upon reading. He quickly schools his expression into indifferent pose #3- _I'm so indifferent, it was amusing for just a second_.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
You better not Cheol. I'm serious ب_ب Look at my serious emoji face ب_ب Serious ب_ب 

Seungcheol replies quickly.

Jihoon worries his bottom lip with his teeth to keep his grin from spreading further.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Yes I do ب_ب No fun till I get there. Put a cork in it. Don’t touch yourself till I get back ب_ب 

Seungcheol’s reply is lightning fast.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Good. ب_ب 

Another few minutes pass without any messages, and Jihoon's about to put his phone away and start taking notes when, it buzzes in his hand.

His phone buzzes again.

And again.

Jihoon grins inwardly as he reads the message. He might be grinning outwardly too, because his cheeks hurt. He's running out of indifferent poses to pull.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Lol. Are you high? ◉_◉

Seungcheol follows up with another picture before Jihoon can reply with _'If you're gonna get high-learn how to share!'_

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Good. And FYI, I think your eyes are huge. But they're doe eyes and that’s cute. And your ears are especially cute (づ￣ ³￣)づ 

Jihoon’s never used the word cute so much in his life. And definitely not to describe fully grown men. It's worryingly Pavlovian that Seungcheol seems to be reprogramming him.

Seungcheol's answering pout is worth it.

Jihoon has another few minutes of reprieve. He only manages to write down half of a nonsensical sentence before the beautiful selcas start again.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Boring (¬_¬) 

Jihoon is well aware that he’s in the middle of an important firm meeting, grinning stupidly at his phone.

He looks up to see that Jun is now watching him with open fascination.

He lets the smile slide off his face slowly and assumes Indifferent Pose #6, the one that projects mild annoyance and studious preoccupation. It’s currently his favourite and usually works wonders in situations like this, but it’s not functioning today. Not when Seungcheol keeps sending him gorgeous selcas.

Everyone keeps sending him strange looks and it would probably be very unprofessional for him to pass his phone around the room just to gloat. _This is what’s waiting for me when I get home. You jealous?_

Jihoon types out his next message with shaky fingers.

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Seriously? You're selcas are killing me. Stop being a tease. I wouldn't be here unless I had to.

He waits another 30 seconds or so, then he double texts before he can will his fingers into submission.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Been thinking about you all day Cheollie (─‿‿─) 

Seungcheol’s response is instantaneous.

Jihoon’s stomach clenches in something like uncertainty. He thinks deflection is the best course of action. So, it makes absolutely no sense that he ends up replying with.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
Fine. Honestly? I think about you all the time. I haven't stopped thinking about you since I met you (；一_一) Happy now?

He clicks send, fingers twitching against his phone as he waits.

Seungcheol replies a few seconds later.

Jihoon opens the picture before he can think better of it, and all the air leaves his lungs in a punched out exhale.

Seungcheol has taken a picture of himself lying on the bed with his ass thrust out. Even though his face is cut off, the picture is unmistakably Seungcheol.

Jihoon _knows_ that ass. He's intimately familiar with that ass.

How could Seungcheol send him this picture in broad daylight? Still—oh god. _Look at that ass._

Seungcheol’s even angled the camera so Jihoon can see as much of his body as possible; his mouth waters at the lovely close-up of trim hips and the beautiful swell of Seungcheol’s ass clad in black, lacy underwear. Peeking over his thighs are suspender belts.

Jihoon is perplexed by the idea that he could be so turned on by this, but the contrast of the pale satin on Seungcheol’s skin is breath-taking.

He stares at the photograph a while longer, grateful that nobody is seated behind him at the board table, and types back a quick reply.

 

 

 

Cheollie  
  
You little shit. I can't believe you sent that. I'm DYING HERE. Just wait till I get home. I swear to fucking god Seungcheol you will be sorry.

Seungcheol’s reply only chips away at his resolve.

The noise that leaves his mouth comes out helpless, all his quiet self-assurance dropped at his feet in that one final picture.

Jihoon doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be back at his penthouse with Seungcheol.

He wants to _punish_ him. He wants to _reward_ him. He wants to give him everything he deserves and more.

He wants to press the man into the mattress and run his tongue along every inch of his skin. Jihoon wants to make him shatter under the ministrations, only to put him back together and take him apart again. He wants Seungcheol moaning, bent over and clenching around Jihoon’s cock, panties torn away and only the suspenders and stockings left to cling to his skin. Jihoon wants to dig his hands into the lace and pull those hips back, using it as brace.

He stands abruptly from his chair, garnering a few concerned looks from the colleagues gathered. “Apologies, but I need to leave right now. I have an emergency.”

* * *

 

It seems like an eternity for Jihoon to make it to his car, and he speeds out of the carpark with the vision of Seungcheol's teeth denting his full lower lip stuck in his head.

His penthouse is twenty agonizing minutes away by car, traffic makes it closer to thirty and Jihoon drives through the city like he’s being chased by zombies.

 _Fast_ zombies.

Crazy fast zombies like the ones in _‘28 days later’_ and _‘World War Z’_ , not the slow, shuffling undead of _‘Dawn of the Dead’_ yesteryear. Soonyoung would probably argue that zombies from the former are more accurately classified as ‘The Infected’ as they don’t meet all the criteria to qualify them as ‘Zombies’. HOWEVER—

Jihoon gets so side tracked thinking that argument through, he almost runs over an elderly lady on a pedestrian crossing. "Sorry-emergency! Panties!" He shouts out the window before he can think better of it.

He’s _probably_ going to get a speeding ticket for this, alongside a number of driving offences, but he doesn’t give a shit. Every moment not in his room looking at Seungcheol in lacy underwear is a moment wasted.

He _probably_ looks half mad when he finally makes it to the building, parking his car haphazardly in the basement garage and nearly running into the doorman.

“Good evening Sir—You’re back early-“ The doorman begins to say.

“Can’t talk—Emergency. _Panties!”_ Jihoon blurts out dashing through the lobby towards the elevator.

When the young family he shares the elevator ride with huddle terrified in the opposite corner, Jihoon realises may be projecting the ' _I will knife you if you hinder my journey'_  vibe, though. He tries for a smile as he vacates the lift—but he’s sure he's coming across even more menacing. "Sorry-panties." He pants breathlessly as the elevator doors shut.

* * *

 

Everything takes too long and he fumbles with his keys when he attempts to open the door, cursing when he drops them on the floor.

As he twists the key in his front door lock, a small trill of anticipation works its way through Jihoon’s body.

When he finally makes it into the room, he finds Seungcheol sprawled on the bed face down, wearing a thin pair of grey jogging bottoms.

There are no panties in sight—but Seungcheol’s really laying it on thick; grinding himself into the comforter and moaning lightly.

He stops as soon as Jihoon enters and rolls onto his side, propping himself up and licking his lips, his cheeks already a little pink. There’s such abashed tension on his face that it makes Jihoon wonder what sort of things Seungcheol _was_ up to before he arrived.

“You’re earlier than I expected.” Seungcheol grins, watching him from the bed with hooded eyes.

Jihoon's standing stern-faced just inside the door of his room, still holding his keys. He tosses them on the empty arm chair and starts to slowly undo his tie, removing it with practiced ease.

“Am I?” He says sharply, shrugging the jacket off, setting it off to the side. “I would have made it back earlier if it weren’t for the traffic.”

As he crosses the room, he catches himself watching Seungcheol stretch on the bed, trying to figure out if he’s hiding some fishnets or perhaps a thong underneath his joggers. 

_Would Seungcheol ever wear a collar? Fuck-he would be so pretty in a collar and a leash..._

He has to shake himself from his pondering when Seungcheol quirks an amused brow at him.

“What happened to your meeting? I thought it was supposed to finish late?” Seungcheol asks. His voice is purring, and slides right down Jihoon's back and straight into three of his top five erogenous zones. Which is not acceptable. Not in the slightest.

Jihoon starts to undo the buttons of his waistcoat, one at a time feeling giddy and warm and a little but silly as he watches Seungcheol on the bed. “There was an emergency, I had to leave early.”

Seungcheol blinks at him in confusion, belied by the twinkle in his dark eyes. “Emergency? What was it?” He asks. His fingers are drawling circles on the bedsheet, a drag-slide-press that stops and repeats slow and hypnotic.

A moment later Jihoon sits beside him, bracing his hands on the edge of the mattress. His fingers curl tightly enough to dent the sheets. “It was very serious. My _insane_ boyfriend sent me a photograph of his panty clad ass.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Jihoonie.” Seungcheol says, his voice dry and innocent all at once. “I was just—“

Lightning quick, Jihoon has his knee pressed against the back of Seungcheol’s thigh, hand round Seungcheol’s wrist, teeth in the softness of Seungcheol’s neck, before he can say another word. Seungcheol shivers, going tense under him, then relenting, gasping when Jihoon sucks high on the side of his neck, just under one ear.

“Don’t play coy with me Cheol,” Jihoon growls, eyes searing down Seungcheol’s frame slowly, then snapping up to meet his. “Are you—wearing them now? Please tell me you’re still wearing them.”

Seungcheol gives him a smile that is equal parts cheerful and sadistic.  “Who says it was me in the photo? I could have just sent you a stock photo.”

 _Little minx,_  Jihoon thinks as he watches Seungcheol chew his bottom lip and throw him a lustful look over his shoulder.

It's as good as an invitation to wrestle Seungcheol down and hold him, but despite the ache in his groin, Jihoon is in a playful mood and doesn't take it.

Instead, he smirks to himself as one hand goes sliding around to palm the curve of Seungcheol’s ass and squeezes experimentally. “Stock photo. Yeah right, not likely. I recognise that ass and thighs combo anywhere Seungcheol. Don’t tease me.” He warns, fingers digging into the soft flesh, before releasing, and lingering there to knead the pert globes.

Seungcheol’s breath hitches and he fidgets ever so slightly as Jihoon palms his ass and that's more confirmation than his wicked smirk was. 

"Jihoon." Seungcheol moans, pushing his ass into the rough touch.

“Please—let me see.” Jihoon whispers.

Seungcheol rises off the bed, graceful, easy, and sensuous. Grabbing the waistline of his joggers, he shimmies, lowering the waistband by millimetres until a tease of the firm curve of his ass is revealed.

The black lace is starkly contrasted against his milky-white, smooth skin. 

 _Too smooth,_  Jihoon realizes.  _He must shave for his job._

That idea sends a blaze of arousal coursing through his veins. The idea of sharp blades dragging along the sensitive skin of Seungcheol’s inner thighs and over the dip of his pelvis. The care taken to not nick tender flesh, the devotion to his clients who would still want to fuck him if he had hair.

Finally the waistband slips over his hips and Seungcheol lets the pants fall farther, arching his back gracefully as the cloth drags over his perfect ass to fall to the floor.

Jihoon is completely entranced, watching the slow draw of cotton down Seungcheol’s legs before his eyes rise again to take in the sight before him.

Underneath those baggy joggers, Seungcheol has hidden a sheer set of black, thigh high stockings with lace tops. They're stretched snugly over his athletic legs, and attached to a thin strip of suspender belt slung over his hips.

Seungcheol’s cock strains against the material, too large to fit within the minuscule amount of fabric when fully erect.

"Fuck-Cheollie." Jihoon groans, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Seungcheol goes to kneel on the bed, stretching so that his ass is still perfectly displayed as he twists towards Jihoon. The movement is practiced, coy, and utter perfection. 

He shimmies his hips, jiggling the pert globes of his ass, and smooths a hand up the cheek of his bum, patting it slightly. “Bought these yesterday. It was a toss-up between black or white. I decided to go with black, I think the white kinda washed me out a little” he says, playfully wiggling his butt again.

Jihoon strokes a hand over Seungcheol’s ass, the silk of it brushing across his skin making a distinct sound. “You should have bought both.” He says, giving the firm flesh a greedy squeeze.  

“Ahh-hmmm.” Seungcheol moans.

Jihoon’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What was that?”                    

Seungcheol darts his tongue out, just a flash of pink raking over his lips before it retreats. “Nothing. Just—a little sensitive.”

Jihoon quirks a brow. “From a little squeeze?” He asks cynically, reaching around with both hands to firmly knead Seungcheol’s ass. He manages a few hard gropes before Seungcheol lets out a soft but excruciatingly obscene moan and Jihoon’s grin drops.

“Why are you so— _Cheol!”_ Jihoon gasps himself when he slides a palm under the lacy fabric and feels the thickness of the protruding end of a toy. He lets go of Seungcheol in surprise, hands slipping out from beneath the fabric.

“What have you done?” Jihoon whispers.

Seungcheol blushes, locks his knees and crawls over the bed, letting the strong line of his legs grow taught and his butt cheeks spread just slightly. “Look for yourself.”

Jihoon gets his fingers inside the delicate waistband and drags the panties over those delicious hipbones, drags them all the way, material sliding over thighs and the smooth curve of an ass that briefly tempts his fingers into stopping, into  _appreciating_.

Removing the panties leaves Seungcheol with only a suspender belt and stockings on. Jihoon’s a little disappointed at not being able to tear the panties away, but he forgives the loss when he sees the round end of a butt plug nestled between Seungcheol’s perfect cheeks.

The barest glimpse of Seungcheol’s pink hole, stretched around the fat plug makes Jihoon’s mouth run dry. There is a sharp intake of breath. His throat feels thick; he can barely swallow yet feels the need to do so repeatedly.

He allows both hands to drift back down, pulling Seungcheol’s cheeks apart to see what Seungcheol had done to himself.

“Look at you,” Jihoon groans, lightly touching the end of the plug, slowly tracing his finger around the rim of the stretched hole that holds it in place. Each reverent touch is a gentle little tease compared to what he’s craving, but it’s pulling tiny little noises from Seungcheol and the shift of impatient thighs nonetheless.

Jihoon pushes hard on the flared base with two fingers, smirking when Seungcheol bites his lower lip to stifle his moan.

“You little _slut_.” Jihoon whispers, mentally approving of how Seungcheol flinches from direct eye contact when he says it.

It’s ludicrous.

Seungcheol’s half naked in his bed, wearing black, lacy underwear and all plugged up—but still manages to be completely shy about the whole thing.

“What did I tell you about starting without me?” Jihoon jokes, but it comes out too hoarse, sounding possessive.

“You told me to put a cork in it. I may have—interpreted that as I see fit.” Seungcheol says and attempts to turn over on his back.

Jihoon presses a hand between Seungcheol’s shoulders, stopping him from turning. He thumbs at the plug again, then wraps his fingers around it, tugging it out just a little. Seungcheol gasps, thrusting his ass in the air, following the pull of the silicone. “Ahh—ahh—ahh!”

“That’s a very liberal interpretation you fucking tease.” Jihoon growls, slowly pulling the plug out, so slowly that Seungcheol jerks with each slow, teasing movement. The idea of Seungcheol pushing toys into himself where Jihoon can’t see infuriates him, but at the same time it spikes his arousal. He’s stricken with the desperate need to come, imagining Seungcheol’s tight hole wrapped around his cock, around colourful silicone.

Or maybe Seungcheol has other toys as well.

Jihoon would love to see him stretched wide around slick glass, or moaning wantonly as Jihoon pulls anal beads past the flexing ring of his muscle.

“Jihoon—don’t tease me. Please” Seungcheol’s whines, mouth falling open, his eyes fluttering shut as Jihoon starts to fuck him with the plug, moving it in tiny circles as he shoves it through that tight ring of muscle, feeling his own ass clench in sympathy.

Jihoon circles his finger around the rim of the plug, pulls it out until the thickest part is stretching Seungcheol wide. Seungcheol cries out, sucking in breath like he’d been punched, “Ahh—Jihoon.”

“Can’t believe you started playing without me Cheollie.” Jihoon purrs, pushing the plug back in, watching the muscles along Seungcheol’s back tense and flex as his body swallows it back in.

“That’s nothing—it’s just a plug. I brought—other toys.” Seungcheol whispers, his curious half-edge of a smile leaves a thrum of desire in Jihoon’s blood.

“Oh really?” Jihoon grins.

“In the box—on the dresser.” Seungcheol directs.

Jihoon grins and moves off the bed.

Seungcheol turns his head and watches as Jihoon makes his way over to the dresser at the far side of the room.

* * *

 

There is indeed a box on the dresser, and Jihoon grins wickedly as he pulls it open. There’s a large, purple dildo, a glass plug, and several vibrators.

He’s not one for toys himself and always found walking into those shops on the intimidating side of experimental. But with Seungcheol waiting and eager and just barely restraining himself from jumping on the bed in excitement, they don't look quite so intimidating anymore.

Except for the cuffs—the cuffs he _wasn’t_ expecting.

The sight of the shiny metal restraints brings all of Jihoon's thoughts to a shuddering, destructive halt and immediately replaces them with new thoughts, terrible, _terrible_ thoughts that leave all the air punched out of him.

He hears Seungcheol hum in approval when he toys with the cuffs, undoing them and letting them dangle freely from a fingertip.

"Like these, do you?" Jihoon asks. "Like not being able to move? Not being able to grab onto anything, or jerk yourself off? Being stretched out so I can touch you anywhere? With anything?" He spares him a cursory glance. “Like feeling helpless Cheol?”

The colour in Seungcheol’s face has deepened and spread and there’s no way to call it anything but a blush, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Not usually. But I thought I would like them—just with you.” He admits like a confession.

There's a burden of feeling beneath the words, a serious amount of trust that makes Jihoon uncomfortable because he hasn't done anything to earn it.

Seungcheol trusts him, which is—shiny and _new_.

Jihoon’s not sure _Jihoon_ trusts Jihoon, but he’s shocked to realize how greedy he is for everything that Seungcheol has to give him.

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think too deeply about this now.

It's time to play.

It's been a long day, and all he wants right now is to destroy Seungcheol’s beautiful, panty-clad bum. So, he reaches for what thrills him the most, first: a thick silicone vibrator with adjustable settings.

When he turns around, he gives Seungcheol the most devious smile he can manage. Seungcheol returns it with a soft smile of his own, before biting on his bottom lip and stretching out a hand, beckoning Jihoon over to the bed. Jihoon slips out of his shirt as he strolls over, kneels beside Seungcheol and strokes his fingers down Seungcheol’s spine, feeling the skin break out into gooseflesh beneath his fingertips.

“The things I want to do to you,” he murmurs.

“So do them,” Seungcheol replies, arching his back as Jihoon’s fingers trace over the curve of his ass, slipping past the lace suspender belt to tease the gap between Seungcheol’s thighs.

Jihoon is already hard, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. He gets up to slip them off, pulling his shoes and socks off with them. Naked, he returns his attention to Seungcheol.

He trails kisses down Seungcheol's spine, his lips open and mouthing, at times barely touching him, just ghost pressure and puffs of air that make Seungcheol gasp and shiver.

He kneads Seungcheol’s ass before urging him to spread his legs, slowly parting his cheeks and pressing a brief kiss there. Dipping between them he places a light kiss to the back of his balls. Then he moves up to lick lightly at the stretch of Seungcheol’s rim around the silicone plug. Seungcheol moans his approval and thrusts his hips back, searching for more.

Jihoon wraps his fingers around the plug again and pulls slowly. Seungcheol’s hole flexes out, unable, or unwilling to release its grip on the plug.

“Greedy—so greedy.” Jihoon murmurs and Seungcheol whines, tightens his grip on the pillow.

"Y-yes..."

When Seungcheol’s ass finally releases the toy, his hole is left gaping, stretched and red. Jihoon licks around the ring in soothing strokes and feels Seungcheol’s muscle flutter around his tongue.

The sounds that Seungcheol makes get higher in pitch as he grinds himself into the bed. The lace belt is slipping out of place as Seungcheol squirms beneath Jihoon’s tongue. Jihoon can see the indented line the elastic has left on Seungcheol’s skin.

He uses the lingerie to pull Seungcheol to his knees, gripping the lace and pulling at the straps attached to the stockings. Snapping one elastic band against Seungcheol’s skin earns Jihoon an amused hum. He ignores the urge to snap it harder, to make Seungcheol’s skin red. That can wait for another night.

He’s too worked right now and all he wants is Seungcheol’s ass.

He wants to eat it, or fuck it, or come inside it. Maybe all three.

So Jihoon starts with the first and buries his face into Seungcheol, pulling him back by the hips for more leverage as he licks wildly and presses his tongue into Seungcheol's loosened asshole.

“Jihoon—Fuck!” Seungcheol lets out a sob when Jihoon presses inside again, this time deeper, holding him apart with strong, nimble fingers, tongue pointed and firm, fucking into him. "Yes! Oh-god. Don't stop," Seungcheol gasps.

Jihoon doesn’t; rimming Seungcheol until he is shaking and boneless, panting against the pillow.

Jihoon loses himself for some minutes before he comes back, realizing that Seungcheol is hoarse, voice choked and begging, calling for attention.

“Jihoon. God. Fuck. Jihoon … I need.”

Seungcheol’s cock is leaking, bobbing up and down as it hangs towards the bed. It’s flushed red, so hard, and Jihoon can tell that Seungcheol is close to coming just from this. He thumbs over Seungcheol’s slick hole before moving from the bed to fish out lube from the bedside table.

He pushes Seungcheol’s shoulders down so that Seungcheol’s ass is pushed farther in the air.

Seungcheol pillows his face in his folded arms and raises his ass backward shamelessly.

Jihoon presses more kisses, even softer if possible, into the base of Seungcheol's spine and Seungcheol just spreads his thighs wider, letting Jihoon fit between them.

Seungcheol is spit-slick but Jihoon lubes himself up anyway. He dribbles a generous amount of lube directly into Seungcheol’s waiting hole then he tilts the bottle to get some on the rim. He thumbs around the ring teasingly then bends completely over Seungcheol, chest against Seungcheol’s back, to whisper in his ear.

“Ready?” He says huskily.

Seungcheol grunts in approval, then nearly wails as Jihoon pushes into him.

Jihoon is slow about it, taking his time to glide all the way in until he’s sunk in completely, hips flush against Seungcheol’s ass which is baby-smooth underneath his fingers.

Seungcheol just keeps him there, clenches tight around him, not giving Jihoon any leverage to thrust with any real intent.

Jihoon grinds against him, rotating his hips slowly, feeling the delicious pressure of Seungcheol around him, the heat of his body as he pulls back, just an inch, just enough for Seungcheol to whine and press back as if on automatic, pressing himself back onto Jihoon’s cock until he’s all the way back inside.

Jihoon mouths Seungcheol's shoulder blade and mumbles, “You feel amazing Cheol. You like being filled up? Like being stretched around my dick?”

“Yeah—yeah. Love it.” Seungcheol pants, fucking himself on Jihoon’s cock just barely, until Jihoon takes him by the hips and pulls out more, then thrusts back in, a slow drag of heat milking him, so fucking slow and Jihoon thinks he may not survive this.

Jihoon grips at the suspenders, pulling Seungcheol sharply back as he rolls his hips experimentally. Seungcheol nearly whimpers when Jihoon finally pulls out farther, just keeping the tip of his cock inside the slick, wet heat of Seungcheol’s ass. Then he drives back in, setting a leisurely rhythm with his thrusts.

“Good boy, Cheollie.” Jihoon murmurs, leaning over him again and breathing the words into the nape of his neck.

Seungcheol sobs as Jihoon starts to fuck him, hard and deep and thorough. He's not looking to tease, just to drive Seungcheol out of his head, bowl him over with too much, too good, all at once.

“Yes—fuck, you feel so good Jihoonie.” Seungcheol moans, rocking back with what little leverage he has, his legs spread too wide to allow much movement. But he doesn't beg for faster or harder, so Jihoon just hitches his hips up, hitting that angle that makes Seungcheol clench and arch and cry.

"Oh—fuck yes." Jihoon growls into his shoulder, "Such a good boy for me, look how you take it."

Seungcheol's clenching every time Jihoon pulls his hips back, arching into every thrust. The headboard hammers the wall, and Jihoon has to hold Seungcheol up to keep him from flattening to the bed, collapsing under the force of Jihoon’s movements, yet Seungcheol still pushes back for more.

"Such a good boy, such a good fuck." Jihoon says again, hoarse and panting, barely holding it together with Seungcheol underneath him like this, taking it like this.

Jihoon reaches down to get his hand around Seungcheol's cock and finds it slick at the head, dripping onto the blankets. Seungcheol sobs as Jihoon’s thumb swipes over the head, gathering up the fluid that's leaking steadily from the tip and slicking the length as he strokes him with quick, wet pulls.

It takes nearly no time at all before Seungcheol is coming onto the sheets, Jihoon’s long fingers wrapped around his dick, pale white against pulsing red. 

Jihoon can feel the rhythmic clench of Seungcheol’s muscles when he comes. But he’s not ready for it to be over yet.

While Seungcheol is still boneless and compliant with orgasm, Jihoon pauses and pulls out to turn him over so he’s splayed on his back. Seungcheol’s red faced, nipples perked, voice catching around Jihoon’s name as Jihoon hooks one leg over his shoulder and fills him again in a single impatient thrust.

"Oh—fuck—Jihoon." Seungcheol gasps, "Feels so—big. Better like this--"

Jihoon starts pounding into him and Seungcheol is gone, just a string of disconnected words spilling from him like a chorus in Jihoon’s ears.

He fastens his teeth over Seungcheol's jugular, with enough pressure to leave a mark – god, he feels like a fucking animal but he can't deny that it feels good to let go like this.

Seungcheol’s softening cock bounces lightly with Jihoon’s thrusts, catching the lacy edge of his belt and dirtying it with come.

Fuck--he's so beautiful it hurts to look at him.

It takes Jihoon five more minutes to reach orgasm. He comes with his thumbs tucked into the edge of Seungcheol’s thigh highs and his mouth against Seungcheol’s neck. He’s wet, covered in sweat and the slide of his skin on Seungcheol’s is too hot for comfort. He reluctantly pulls away, unhooking his thumbs from the stockings’ elastic top and sliding out of Seungcheol completely.

* * *

It doesn't take much for them to both get hard again. A few lazy kisses and some reverent caressing and Seungcheol's already hard against the edge of his waist, a greedy shove-slide of skin that turns the kiss a little messy.

"Do you want more?" Jihoon whispers, biting at Seungcheol’s ear, moving down his neck with possessive, sucking kisses.

Seungcheol exhales, hard and rough and nods, “Fuck—yes, please—“ He chokes on whatever he tries to stay when Jihoon pushes in again, feeling the wet slide where his come has slicked Seungcheol inside.

Seungcheol’s thighs tense and then fall apart, leaving him open and relaxed and easy. A perfect and completely unselfconscious display of wantonness and Jihoon's fingers dig into his thighs, trying to press marks into that beautiful skin. 

Jihoon fucks him just like that for a few moments, enjoying the rare ease of it, how Seungcheol's body yields to him. He slows the movement of his hips to a languid roll, making Seungcheol pant for harder, faster but not giving him anything more yet. 

He has all night, so long as the Seungcheol does as well.

He leans over Seungcheol and presses his fingers to Seungcheol's lips—watches rapt as Seungcheol takes them into his mouth and sucks them slick, desultory. 

“I want to give you everything Cheol—everything you want.” Jihoon murmurs, slowly dragging his fingers out over Seungcheol’s plush bottom lip and slipping his hand lower, between Seungcheol’s cheeks where he’s already spread open.

He presses a finger there—testing. Seungcheol looses a quiet, half-surprised rush of air and then spreads his thighs to let him, to encourage him.

Jihoon slowly twists his finger in alongside his cock and Seungcheol’s mouth falls open, some soft noise sliding out of his throat. But there's nothing else, no objection, no disapproval. He lets Jihoon stretch him wider, one palm flat against Seungcheol’s stomach holding him down, like he's been allowed all along.

Seungcheol breathes a rough gasp, hips twitching off the bed as Jihoon presses the digit deep, then curls it around his cock.

“Ahh—Oh—god Jihoon.”

Jihoon looks up. Seungcheol’s eyes are open, glazed with need, but there's no protest there, just expectant sort of heat and lust, familiar enough that Jihoon’s encouraged to introduce a second finger, after only the barest moment.

“Ahh!” Seungcheol throws his head back against the pillow and cries out at the added intrusion, but even muddled as Jihoon's own thoughts are, he can tell the sound is thick with pleasure.

Jihoon's not expecting the rush of greedy lust that slices through him when Seungcheol’s breath catches, when his thighs tremble as Jihoon works in deeper, letting him fold in close and hot for a quick kiss.

“You can take it baby, open up for me.” Jihoon croons, fucking Seungcheol with two fingers, pushing them in next to his cock.

Though he meets the resistance of muscle as he begins to work Seungcheol open, it doesn't take Jihoon long to work up to three fingers. Revelling in the gorgeous pained noises Seungcheol makes as he accommodates more, his body twisting up only to  _relax_  with the very next breath. 

Sooner than he means to Jihoon pulls his fingers from Seungcheol's body, and takes the vibrator in hand. He listens to the sharp inhale, watches the way Seungcheol’s eyes go wide and dark.

He begins by running it along the crease of Seungcheol’s ass and against his rim where they’re joined, pressing a little.

Seungcheol makes an aborted sound of desperation, twitching when Jihoon drags it away and down the crease of his thigh before pulling it back for a moment, to slick it up.

Seungcheol's eyes are closed, but he must hear the sound of that, must know what comes next. When Jihoon nudges the head of the vibrator against Seungcheol’s entrance, his muscles tense and he clenches rhythmically around Jihoon.

"Ah—fuck. Easy Cheol," Jihoon soothes, stroking down the firm stomach. “I don’t have to use it.” He assures.

“No—I want it!” Seungcheol whines. The edge of desperation is beautiful. Words lost somewhere in the depth of Seungcheol’s throat. “Please—I’m ready for it. I want it with you.”

Jihoon doesn't suppress the savage grin this brings to his face. Because this is all new and unfamiliar for Seungcheol, but he wants to try it all with Jihoon, and it just makes everything so much fucking better.

Jihoon rubs the tip of the vibrator against Seungcheol’s rim, nudging gently. "Ready?" he asks. The sound of his own voice surprises him, ragged and full of gravel.

Seungcheol manages a jerky nod and then in the next breath, Jihoon’s pressing the slick length of the vibrator into him.

The first unsteady push is awkward. Seungcheol’s body doesn't want to take it, it's hard to push, hard to ease it in beside his own cock, which is desperate enough on his own without the enforced stillness. But watching Seungcheol hole open around it, lashes trembling, thighs tense. It's all obscenity and desperation.

"That's it," Jihoon says, though it ends up coming out more of a snarl than a reassurance, and when Seungcheol's body tries instinctively to wriggle away from the added invasion, Jihoon presses a kiss to his forehead, disarmingly tender. It earns him a breathy whine, something tight and hurt but still undeniably turned-on.

Slowly, Seungcheol opens for it.

It doesn't seem possible. Seungcheol is still so tight around him, such overwhelming heat, but there's the persistent nudge of the vibrator, and Seungcheol's body gives way, grudgingly accommodating as Jihoon presses it in and spreads him so full that Seungcheol throws his head back, a jagged, stuttering moan escaping his throat.

Gasps and curses escape Jihoon's mouth, and his body trembles as Seungcheol tightens around his length in a punishing grip.

And—god, Jihoon has to close his eyes as they lose focus, and force his breathing steady—the alternative is to come right here, before he's even gotten started.

When he reopens his eyes, he sees Seungcheol’s beautiful ass stretched around his cock and the first few inches of the vibrator, and he almost comes from the sight alone.

“Fuck, Cheollie baby—” Jihoon groans, pressing the vibrator in and shifting his hips to accommodate its thickness.

He twists his wrist slowly, angling the toy carefully, but it still makes Seungcheol whine softly, a noise that barely makes it out of his throat.

He pushes until half the length is inside before angling it up, swearing under his breath when Seungcheol’s body arches up into his arms, his heels digging into the mattress.

“Relax baby, let me in.” Jihoon murmurs, trying to nudge the vibrator against Seungcheol’s prostate with each slow flex of his wrist. His heart is racing, fingers in a sweaty death grip around the width of the vibrator.

Seungcheol tries to relax, to his credit, but little "ah, ah," sounds escape his lips and he clenches down painfully around Jihoon’s cock anyway.

Jihoon can’t blame him.

His own control is threatening to crack down the middle, threatening to crack into fucking pieces, watching Seungcheol take the uncomfortable stretch of both his cock and the slick hard length of the dildo. The only thing stopping Jihoon from coming is the strange foreign push of it. The uncomfortable tightness against him, a throb of almost pain that he thinks he likes far too much.

“Yes Cheollie—ahh—so tight baby. Doing so well.” Jihoon soothes, as he slips the vibrator deeper, twisting, working against tight muscle until Seungcheol can’t do anything but sob and tremble, adjusting to the impossible sensation of two cocks opening him up at once.

Jihoon leaves a wet trail of bites and kisses along Seungcheol’s chest, hands ghosting over Seungcheol's cock, gentle now, even as he continues to fill Seungcheol with the unrelenting thickness of the vibrator. The added friction along his length makes it damn hard for Jihoon to keep it together, and he swallows back a curse when he pushes his hips back a fraction, and finally slots the toy all the way in.

Seungcheol  _keens_ , high in his throat, too loud in the rapt silence of the room.

" _Oh god_ ," Jihoon gasps, breathless wonder in his voice.

He doesn’t move. He holds Seungcheol’s hips still, panting at the hot prickle of desperation sliding over his skin from the motionless tease of Seungcheol’s ass stretched wide around his cock and the toy combined. 

“Fuck.” Jihoon swears under his breath, thrusting just hard enough to feel the ridges of the vibrator drag against his cock on the inside.

He gives Seungcheol some time to adjust, although he doesn't think there is enough time in the world for him to get used to it. Seungcheol is so fucking tight that every breath he drags in just makes Jihoon hyper-aware of how every nerve is stretched tight around him.

"Are you all right?" Jihoon asks. Because he needs to be sure. He never wants to hurt Seungcheol—especially not like this.

"Yes," Seungcheol answers instantly, and rocks up and down once as though to prove it.

Jihoon swears out loud this time, and pins Seungcheol’s hips to the bed. Neither of them is going to last long at this rate.

Jihoon knows he should give Seungcheol more time, but he's already moving, hips pulling back and thrusting forward as he sets a slow, steady pace.

Everything is instantly too much. The overwhelming heat of it, the tight grip of Seungcheol’s body. The way the vibrator forces his cock tight against Seungcheol’s walls, the way Seungcheol curves under his sliding hands, trying to push back, trying to take it deeper, losing every breath in a choked groan 

“God, you feel good like this. So fucking tight.” Jihoon groans.

The sounds Seungcheol makes at first are tinged with almost as much pain as pleasure, but as his body adjusts to accommodating both lengths at once, his voice ratchets to smoother, breathier sounds and Jihoon knows it's only a matter of time.

Which is fortunate—at this rate he won't last much longer himself.

He alternates between rolling his hips and moving the vibrator, but never managing enough coordination to do both. He doubts Seungcheol will be able to handle that level of stimulation anyway and Seungcheol’s choked off moans and drawn out sobs tell Jihoon he’s finding all of the right places Seungcheol likes to be touched, inside and out.

And then Jihoon wonders, traitorously, if anyone else knows Seungcheol’s body as well as he does.

He likes to think no one does.

Despite his best attempt to keep it slow, Jihoon’s pace has been picking up unconsciously. He finds his rhythm switching into something hard and deep and nothing resembling gentle.

Seungcheol doesn't seem to mind—not if the way he rolls his hips to meet every thrust is any indication.

In the coppery lamplight, Jihoon can see every nuance of pleasure that crosses Seungcheol’s face when he strains and moans. His mouth is slick and hot on Jihoon’s and he does, eventually, get his voice back, whispering that he feels so good, needs it so much—already evident in the way he soaks up affection and physical contact like he’s ravenous for it, the way he can’t take his hands off Jihoon for more than a moment at a time.

Encouraged, Jihoon twists and shifts the vibrator, angles the toy upwards and getting a cry from Seungcheol along with a full-body upwards jerk.

“Fuck—Jihoon—g-good” Seungcheol says, syllables broken at the edges. He strokes a hand over his chest, pinching and tugging at his own nipple piercings and sucking in his breath at his pleasure. His legs slide further apart and with that change of angle, Jihoon can see himself where he's fucking into Seungcheol, vibrator and cock opening him up, the slick red rim of his hole.

He rubs a finger over it, smirking when Seungcheol moans and bucks and tries to push into the touch.

"Greedy boy. Stuffed full and you want more already." Jihoon purrs, patting his thigh.

Seungcheol doesn’t speak, he just lifts his knees higher, reaches his hands down to spread himself open even further. “Yess. Mm—more.” Seungcheol moans as he parts his cheeks wide.

Jihoon groans and pushes the vibrator in to the hilt, as far as it will go, before twisting the bottom of the vibrator to switch it on.

Seungcheol’s whole body vibrates like a harpstring in response, pulse skyrocketing as the vibrator hums to life. “Ahh—ahh—yes—fuck.” He moans, hips rolling uncontrollably as he works through the added stimulation buzzing through him.

He's oversensitive and Jihoon loves him like this, loves the way he claws at the blankets, shakes his head, presses back and then twitches away. It's too much and his body can't process it, can't take the shocks of pleasure when the toy pulses at his prostate, over and over, relentless.

"Jihoon—Jihoon," Seungcheol chants his name, the only thing he can say at this point, needing Jihoon to anchor him.

"I've got you, you're okay. You feel amazing, so good for me." Jihoon murmurs.

He can feel the vibrations too, where the rim of Seungcheol’s hole is straining around him, through the persistent thrum of pleasure he can feel along the length of his shaft. It would be so easy to hitch a ride on that wave and let his own climax carry him away.

But he's not ready to end this yet.

He's not ready to stop fucking Seungcheol.

He holds back by some improbable force of willpower, and waits for Seungcheol to adjust to the pulsating motions of the toy before he braces both his hands on Seungcheol’s hips and starts to pound slick and easy into him.

Seungcheol tilts his hips up and begs for more, letting Jihoon in deeper, one hard push after another, even as the vibrator jostles with each thrust.

The jolt of it, of Jihoon’s cock forcing it deeper, foreign and strange and too much. But Seungcheol’s still giving wet, fractured sobs that aren't protest, like his body needs this and it doesn't care what the rest of him thinks.

“So greedy for it, Cheollie.” Jihoon says, bottoming out with every thrust now, stretching Seungcheol open even wider, impossibly.

“You can take more, can’t you?” he asks, not quite a question for Seungcheol, just an observation, “Bet you can take more than just two cocks. Bet you like to fuck yourself with all your toys. Want me to fill you with them.” Jihoon rasps and Seungcheol moans at him, bucking into the drugging rhythm of Jihoon fucking his ass, faster and faster now.

Seungcheol is the first to come, shaking hard, shouting Jihoon’s name and gasping for air as he clenches tight around the two hard lengths filling him. His hips twitch as he spurts thickly between their bodies without his cock even being touched.

Jihoon is close behind him. Thrusting once. Twice. Half a dozen times, before pleasure sparks all over his skin, glowing hot and sharp low in his belly.

When he finally, finally comes inside Seungcheol, Seungcheol is more than strong enough to take his weight afterwards. Legs relaxing either side of him when Jihoon slides out and groans into the curve of his throat.

Jihoon eases the toy out, careful and more coordinated than he expects to manage, Seungcheol barely moves except to shiver.

Even after Jihoon pads over to the bathroom to clean up and tries to give Seungcheol at least a semblance of personal space, Seungcheol rolls over whines until he comes back into the room.

“I wanna cuddle.” He huffs.

Jihoon manages a breathless laugh. “Jesus Christ, you’re clingy.”

In response, Seungcheol pouts, and then pulls Jihoon close to kiss and touch and entangle them all over again the instant Jihoon is within arms reach.

With his loose hair and his lush mouth, Seungcheol seems so innocuous when he cuddles in close and drowses, his arm slipping around Jihoon’s waist and his fingers petting through Jihoon’s hair like he can’t physically make himself stop touching him in some way.

If Jihoon could melt, he would.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This took FOREVER and a half to update. I was on holiday last week :)  
> 2) But I;m glad I didn't update earlier because I would have missed Seungcheol's Birthday and that VLive which...as you can plainly see....was really fucking useful for this chapter.  
> 3) Thank you to everyone who tweeted a response to my tweet request for Seungcheol's Selca's. @CoupsALatte, @satuwilhelmiina, @caratcola, @wooocoup. Thanks you guys! Life savers and I'll be needeing them for later chapters.  
> 4) DOUBLE PENETRATION. Man, I've always wanted to write that. I may have used every word I know to emphasize the whole DP thing too.  
> 5) Filth aside, Seungcheol's Birthday V-Live......honestly, killed me to watch. I may have screenshot every frame XD  
> 6) Hope you enjoy the chapter and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.  
> 7) If you have ideas of what you'd like to see....in future chapters...hit me.


	13. Fiste moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title pretty much sums it up

 

Jihoon sighs inwardly as he cracks open a new notebook. He’s misplaced his previous one— _somewhere_.

He’s searched high and low and it’s not in his apartment, his car and now he’s certain it’s not in his office either.

He feels pretty lost without it.

There is a list in Jihoon's moleskin notebook. In fact, there are several lists, as Jihoon has always been irrationally fond of writing things out. He likes to plot everything out on the pages, to turn them into well-ordered charts and figures; but his love for lists has never faded. Most of them are itemized and extremely detailed.

_07:00—Wake up_

_07:01—Start fondling Seungcheol._

_7:15—Stop fondling Seungcheol/Shower._

_7:30—Get dressed._

_7:45—Fondle Seungcheol again._

_7:55—Stop fondling Seungcheol/Get breakfast._

And so on.

Honestly, it’s a good thing he has an eidetic memory or he’ll never get anything done without his lists!

On the last page of the notebook, however, is a special place dedicated to poems. Specifically—very crude poems and occasionally pornographic doodles of Seungcheol and things he’d like to do to him.

If there's a better way to instil interest in a subject than by associating it with sex, Jihoon don't want to know what it is.

He hasn’t needed to vent his sexual frustrations into writing for a while, but it would be truly awful if the wrong person got their hands on his notebook.

Like Soonyoung for instance. Or Jun. Hell, even Wonwoo is untrustworthy.

They’d probably take photocopies of his book and hand them around the office.

Seriously, he needs new friends.

* * *

 

“Hey babe, whatssup?” Jihoon says, answering his phone when it rings.

“Nothing, just relaxing—waiting for you.” Seungcheol’s voice echoes. It sounds like he’s in the main room of the penthouse. “Then I thought I would watch some TV, but I couldn’t find the remote.”

“Uh-huh.” Jihoon says, distracted as he adjusts his tie using his reflection in the window.

“So, I checked behind the couch, you know between the cushions. And I found this— _book_.” Seungcheol’s voice places the most subtle of pressures on that last word.

Jihoon snaps to attention. “Oh?”

“It was one of those little black moleskin’s you keep for work, but this one had some very—interesting drawings in it.” Seungcheol says, voice flat in a way it has never been before.

Jihoon winces. He can see where this is going.

Seungcheol clears his throat. “Oh, and some— _poems_ too. Several actually.”

There's a moment of silence, and Jihoon wonders if Seungcheol can hear his heart pounding over the phone.

“Oh— _that_.” Jihoon says, realizing that the rising inflection is conveying certain panic. “It’s Soonyoung’s. I’m keeping it for him.” He lies.

“Really?” Seungcheol sounds sceptical. “So Soonyoung wrote— _‘S.coups. Thighs so thick—I want to spear you with my dick.’_

Jihoon shuts his eyes tightly. “Yup.”

Seungcheol clicks his tongue critically. “And Soonyoung also wrote— _‘Your ass is so plump. Like two big soft marshmallows. I want to fist you.’?_

Jihoon clenches his teeth. “Uh-huh.”

“And Soonyoung wrote a poem titled, _‘The incy wincy anal bead climbed up S.coups spout?”_ Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon clenches his fists. “Yes.”

“And Soonyoung drew a pornographic sketch of a guy— _who looks a lot like me_ —wearing a collar and a leash?”

Jihoon contemplates throwing himself out of his office window. “That’s—that’s Soonyoung. He’s—sick in the head. I can get a restraining order filed against him if you want.” Jihoon attempts casual, but he can sense the perturbed eye-rolling even over the phone.

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, but his voice is tense when he continues, “Oh. Well that’s a shame. I thought it was yours. Cause I would have let you.”

It takes Jihoon an age to realize he's heard that right, but once he figures it out all he can do is gasp, and gasp again. “Come again?”

Seungcheol laughs. It's less tense than before, but nowhere near the carefree laughter that's typical for him. He sounds more guarded than usual. “Just saying. Had it been _your_ porny drawings, _your_ crude poems—I would have happily allowed you to-“

“It’s **_mine_**.” Jihoon interjects quickly, seriously. “Soonyoung can’t write poetry for shit.”

“So—you’re admitting to writing all these poems about me? That you want to do all these—dirty— _nasty_ things to me?” Seungcheol's voice is thick and silky, hovering layers of amusement underneath it all.

Jihoon takes a breath, sharp and too loud, then swallows it quick enough to hurt. “Yes.”

“You’re cute Jihoonie. Okay then. I’ll see you when you get home.” Seungcheol says, before hanging up.

Jihoon is left standing in his office, with a dial tone and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

_What does that mean? Is he in trouble? Is Seungcheol angry?_

* * *

 

Jihoon’s reviewing his planner after lunch, when his office door flies open and Junhui strolls in like he owns the fucking place.

Jihoon looks at him coolly, lowering his planner. “Why do I even have a door if you’re not going to fucking knock it?”

Junhui spreads his hands, and smiles in that terribly arrogant, but strangely charming, way he has. Then he pushes them into his pockets.

“Sorry, but I didn’t see you in the cafeteria, just thought I’d stop by and catch up real quick.” He says, smiling shamelessly. He perches himself on the edge of _Jihoon’s_ desk, and picks up _Jihoon’s_ stapler before Jihoon can stash it away safely.

Jihoon just looks at him over the top of his glasses. He’s trying to radiate disapproval at the interruption, but from Junhui’s expression he’s probably only managing to radiate mild frustration? Some sort of long-suffering acceptance? Amusement?

Jihoon doesn’t have time for this bullshit.

“We caught up yet?” He snaps.

Junhui neatly side-steps Jihoon's closing line with a question. “What was the big emergency?”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “What?”

“The big emergency that had you fleeing the meeting on Wednesday looking very— _agitated_.” Junhui says, voice husky, and Jihoon can feel his cheeks pink.

“It was a medical emergency. Rather private actually.” Jihoon says flatly, perfunctory and _final_.

Of course, Jihoon's _'This conversation is over'_ tone doesn't work. It never does, on the likes of Junhui.

“Medical as in—the doctor phoned about some concerning test results—medical, or if you didn’t relieve the pressure in your balls they would explode—medical?” Jun asks, matching Jihoon with a flatness of his own.

Jihoon sighs, and pushes thumb and finger up under his glasses to rub his eyes. “What’s your point Jun?”

Jun takes a deep breath—he looks to be bracing himself to say something important.

“Soonyoung told me you were dating that— _stripper—_ from the club.” Jun says carefully. Or, well actually it's more of an accusation.

Jihoon clenches his fists at the words, at the tone. He can almost feel the creases forming on his forehead. “Yeah. What of it?” He answers, clipped and failing to rise to the bait.

“Nothing, just surprised is all. I’m glad you have a nice— _distraction_.” Junhui says with a leer.

Jihoon rolls his eyes because Junhui can make _anything_ sound dirty.

“He’s not a distraction.” Jihoon says, though he'd honestly never expected Choi Seungcheol to be quite so  _diverting._  Yeah, he might be dedicating a lot more of his time to Seungcheol than anyone else, but Jihoon's slowly discovering that he's worth it. Unexpectedly worth it.

“Are you sure? Cause you’re spend a lot less time at the office than you did before. And a lot less time with us too. Not that I’m jealous or anything, it’s just—he’s a _stripper_ , Jihoon. It’s one thing to ogle him onstage and grab a few private sessions here and there—but dating him? A _stripper_?”

Which yeah, Jun doesn't have to keep repeating it in that voice. Jihoon knows what a stripper is.

“Yeah, I’m aware that’s his job Junhui. But I don’t care—we’re dating. In fact—he’s my _boyfriend_.” Jihoon corrects him, with probably more emphasis than was strictly necessary.

Jun’s expression twists into something unimpressed.

“If I recall correctly—you broke up with your last boyfriend because you felt he distracted you from work and you wanted to focus on your career. You’ve kept most of your relationship since then strictly on your terms and they’ve never passed the three month mark—because, and I quote _‘they were too distracting’_. I imagine the distraction is tenfold with Seungcheol.”

Jihoon senses Jun isn't reminding him of this to be annoying, which tells Jihoon Jun's really worried about him. He shouldn't be, though. For the first time in quite a while, Jihoon knows both exactly what he wants and what he needs to do to have it.

“That was different. I wanted different things back then. I didn’t—didn’t _feel_ then what I feel now with Seungcheol. I really like him—and not just for his body. I really _like_ —him.”

Jun’s quiet for one stunned minute, sitting there with his mouth open unattractively. “You’re really serious about this. He’s not just—some temporary distraction for you?”

“How many times do I have to say it? He isn’t a distraction,” Jihoon repeats, just as his phone buzzes. “He’s motivating actually. He motivates me to--“ Jihoon swipes open his phone and opens the message.

The message is from Seungcheol.

Jihoon wheezes out his next breath, glasses fogging up.

“What’s wrong?” Jun asks.

Jihoon can’t speak for one stunned moment. There is not enough air in his lungs, so all he can manage to get out is ‘ _Flebebebe’_ in stuttered syllables. Which means nothing and is not helpful at all.

Jun leans over the desk to peek. “What is it?”

“Mind your own business.” Jihoon responds, far too quickly to be convincing. He thumbs his phone locked. “Now, as I was saying.”

What was he saying? What the  _hell_  was he saying?

Junhui’s smile gets, if possible, wider – shark-like. Many an unwary defendant has seen that smile from the wrong end of the table.

Jun gives Jihoon a knowing look as he crosses his arms. “He sent you a naughty picture, didn’t he?”

Jihoon longs for the jedi strength to throttle Junhui using his mind. All he can manage is a half-hearted growl.

"No. He was just telling me to have a nice day at work. _See_ —motivating.”

Jun shakes his head at him like there is no hope for him at all. “I could see his panty clad ass reflected in your glasses Jihoon.” Jun says—then _whistles_. “What were you saying—about him _not_ being a distraction?”

Jihoon makes a rude noise that he thinks the situation absolutely calls for. “Like I said, he’s _motivating_. Now—if you don’t mind. I was in the middle of something.”

Jihoon picks his planner up again and makes some half-hearted notes in order to avoid having to look at Junhui again, whom he can feel grinning now.

Seriously. New friends. He needs them.

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon, Jihoon’s concentration is shot.

His case has gone to court, so the paperwork side is complete. Not having anything immediately pressing to focus on has led to very depraved thoughts of lacy knickers, stockings, and the white swell of Seungcheol’s ass in said knickers.

Which is lovely if you’re afforded the time and privacy to do something about it. It is, however, daylight and there is a window washer scaffolding the building, so Jihoon has to resist the near inescapable urge for a quick tug in his office.

He’s glad he withheld from wanking, because suddenly, there is a quiet knock on his office door and the most senior partner in the firm strides into his office.

“Sir?” Jihoon says, rising from his seat.

“Sit, Jihoon. Please.” The man says. It’s a strangely quiet suggestion, calm, gentle.

Jihoon’s stomach clenches uncomfortably for a variety of reasons; it’s not every day you get a visit from the most senior partner in the firm. Unless— _oh shit_ —was he getting fired?

He very carefully doesn’t react to that anxious thought as the senior partner takes a set across from him, crosses his legs and then narrows his eyes into a stern expression.

Oh crap. Maybe he _is_ getting fired.

They take a moment to survey each other.

The Senior partner peers at him like he’s doing his best to divine the very contents of his soul!  It's not a comfortable experience. Jihoon can't help but feel his boss is succeeding—an unpleasant thought.

Eventually the scrutiny softens, and Jihoon discovers he has been holding his breath. He inhales deeply and ignores the way it makes his head spin.

His boss smiles at him then an—Oh, now Jihoon is expecting the worse. The guy's being almost-nice to him, which means something horrible is probably going to happen. He'll be lucky if he’s allowed to pack his belongings into one of those generic carboard boxes that magically appear when you get fired. They’ll probably haul him out onto the street reciting ‘immediate effect’ and Jun will be dispensed to pick his stuff up instead.

“Not that I’m not overjoyed to see you,” Jihoon asks to break the silence and his quiet mental breakdown. “But, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The man’s stern expression folds into something a little more contrite, though not by much. Still—Jihoon’s encouraged by it—it probably means he isn’t going to get fired.

“I wanted to be the first to tell you that—Mr Chan is stepping down as senior partner in the fall.” The senior partner tells him, and relief lifts the tightness from Jihoon's chest.

Jihoon preens for half a second before he remembers to look chagrined. “That’s—a shame.”

The senior partner dips his head in agreement. “Yes, truly a loss. But, as you are aware—we haven’t announced it yet. These changes can always cause a bit of chaos, and we need to announce it at the correct time to avoid disruptions and hearsay circulating about a successor.”

“I understand.” Jihoon nods.  

The man leans forward, elbows on his knees. “But just between you and I, advertising the position will merely be a _gesture_. We already have a replacement in mind.”

Jihoon’s forehead creases with confusion. He mimes incomprehension.

“I mean you, of course.” His boss clarifies.

Jihoon raises one eyebrow. “Oh—wow. I’m sh-”

“Don’t pretend to be surprised Jihoon.” The senior partner interrupts with unyielding finality. “You’re hard working, demonstrate consistently good results, bring in the most clients—practically a poster boy for the firm. Naturally you’d be our first choice.”

Jihoon’s second eyebrow rises to join the first.

He does _enjoy_ his ego being stroked, but he thinks this is one of those occasions he should downplay how fucking awesome he is.

It would look better. _Humble_ or some shit. “I don’t know about that Sir, I’m just-“

The Senior partner clears his throat, breaking Jihoon’s voice straight down the middle. “You’ll still have to go through the interview process with the panel first, just standard procedure to keep things fair. I don’t think you should have a problem with that.”

“Yes, sir.” Jihoon says. Though he doesn’t feel like he’s getting much of a say in this at all. Not that he’s complaining.

Hell, he's retained this position for almost three years. He was overqualified when he first took the job, and he's damn good at it. He's long overdue for a promotion.

* * *

 

Later, Jihoon is leaving from a long, dull briefing with a client when he gets a text from Seungcheol asking if he’s finished yet.

Once Jihoon responds in the affirmative, Seungcheol messages him back right away.

Jihoon knows he must reply to that but he isn’t sure it’s in any language known to homo sapiens.

He breaks the speed of sound land record driving home in excitement.

It doesn’t occur to him until he’s in the elevator on his way up to his apartment that Seungcheol might be referring to something like wallpapering the bedroom or alphabetizing Jihoon’s cufflink collection by designer.

All he knows is that by the time he walks into the apartment, Seungcheol’s waiting by the door and trying, very staunchly, to look like he hasn’t been waiting by the door at all.

“Hello there.” Jihoon sheds his jacket, taking his time with it just to watch Seungcheol practically crackle with barely suppressed energy. “You were saying?”

Seungcheol is looking a little nervous and a little defensive, standing there looking gorgeous in the tightest pair of navy blue boxer briefs, but he still shows no second thoughts whatsoever about coming right up to Jihoon and kissing him. Slow and deep, letting Jihoon grope him through the butter-soft fabric of his underwear.

_19:35—Get home + Fondle Seungcheol. Check._

“I was, yeah.” Seungcheol says, brow furrowed as his fingers pick apart the knot of Jihoon’s tie.

Jihoon lifts a halting hand to stop him, tipping his chin up to gaze at him.

“Are you angry? About the poems? Cause I was in a—very sexually frustrated place when I wrote them. I feel differently now.”

Seungcheol cocks his head, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Are you saying you _don’t_ want to fist me? Cause I’d hate to think I just prepped myself for nothing.”

Jihoon’s gaze immediately drops to his other hand where Seungcheol is stroking over his knuckles with his thumb, his face just as immediately settling into a neutral expression so Seungcheol doesn’t catch him drooling.

Jihoon hauls Seungcheol in for another kiss, snaking one arm around his waist, using his opposite hand to grab Seungcheol hard by the nape of the neck. Unlike Seungcheol’s tentative kiss, Jihoon’s is greedy and fierce, all rough edges and ragged want.

Seungcheol is barely caught up enough to kiss him back when Jihoon pulls away, slipping a hand down the front of Seungcheol’s underwear to cup him this time, fingers closing around a handful of warm, smooth flesh that has Seungcheol humming his gratitude and fingers fumbling with Jihoon’s belt.

* * *

Jihoon waits at the foot of the bed, fingers curled around Seungcheol's ankle, unwilling to go into this without words.

“Let’s get one thing out of the way. Not everyone manages a whole fist on the first go.” He says.

“Is that a challenge I hear?” says Seungcheol, sprawled on top of the covers, enough of his throat bared to make it a very tempting opportunity.

Jihoon resolutely stays on track. “We can take our time—I can open you up slowly. Maybe use a few toys first. We don’t have to jump right into everything straight away—I, I don’t want to hurt you Cheollie.”

Seungcheol looks almost wounded “But in your poem, aptly titled ‘ _Wreck-tum’_ —you said _‘wrecking Seungcheol’s hole is my goal. One fist will never be enough’._

Jihoon claps his hands together. “I know what I wrote—but those are just— _fantasies_. Things I thought of before I could have all of you and—it’s one thing to have thoughts, but it’s something else entirely to act on them.”

Seungcheol pushes himself up onto his elbows, grinning. Jihoon’s shirt is half untucked and Seungcheol, in lieu of answering, finishes pulling it free, slipping buttons apart from the bottom up until he’s bared a flash of Jihoon’s pale stomach.

He pauses, letting his fingers drift across it, studying the way Jihoon stretches and sighs in response.

"I don’t want to hurt you Cheollie. I want to make you feel good." Jihoon says.

Seungcheol helpfully plucks open a few more buttons and then looks at him, a quick flit of dark eyelashes, before winding his arms around Jihoon and drawing him down. “I won’t let you do anything that hurts me.”

He twists until he’s on top, tangling their limbs together, and Jihoon can feel the heat of him, everywhere. “And,” Seungcheol kisses him, drawing his nails down Jihoon’s nape, “and I know you’d be so careful, know you’d stop the second I said. I  _know_  that and I just really, really like your hands, so I don’t understand why it’s a big deal.”

Jihoon can’t argue, not with Seungcheol hard against him, licking up his throat and easing one graceful hand down the front of Jihoon’s pants. “You’ve done it before, too, haven’t you?” Seungcheol whispers. “You’ve done everything.”

Jihoon’s sexual history isn’t something they talk about directly, although it does come up obliquely from time to time. “Well, yes,” admits Jihoon, and Seungcheol’s face is ducked down, nudging Jihoon’s shirt up his body so he can lap a cruel little circle in the cradle of his hipbone.

Jihoon slips his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, guiding him back up

“Yes,” Jihoon says again, and he can see every last reaction that Seungcheol tries to keep from crossing his face this time, “but not with you.”

It’s a lethal combination, Seungcheol plus mussed hair plus that adorable pout plus the faintest of furrows that appears between his eyes.

“What if I told you it’s one of my fantasies too,” Seungcheol says, and his hand is hot and smooth around Jihoon’s cock and his shirt slides off his shoulders and Jihoon has a feeling that Seungcheol knows very, very well just how lethal he can be, but he can’t be bothered to call him out for it either.

* * *

 

Jihoon goes twisting out of the rest of his clothes, heedless of where they end up, and then he’s ushering Seungcheol’s boxers off, because Seungcheol goes about it too slowly for his liking.

He ends up with Seungcheol sprawling on top of him, languid rolls of his hips bringing their cocks together as he gives pleased little hums against Jihoon’s lips.

Jihoon’s hand finds the dip of Seungcheol’s lower back and rests there, thumbing at the crease of his ass, and it unnerves him that his hand suddenly feels enormous when he draws it up along Seungcheol’s waist.

He brings it up higher, into his hair, feeling Seungcheol’s spine bow and his cock throb.

“If you decide you absolutely don’t want to continue,” Jihoon tells him seriously, “I want you to scream _Kwon Soonyoung_ as loud as you can.”

Seungcheol’s mouth is wet around one of Jihoon’s nipples, and he nips at it before looking up, eyes distant. “Why?”

“Because that’s the most unsexy thing I can think of right now.” He deadpans.

Seungcheol giggles. “That’s not a very good safe word. What if I was planning on screaming out his name anyway?”

"Your humour,” remarks Jihoon, “is both unwelcome and ill-timed. Are you trying to make me jealous? Cause it won’t take much.”

Seungcheol quirks a brow and goes crawling up the bed to get the lube, giving Jihoon a wonderful view of his ass in the process.

Jihoon can’t say no to that ass. _Ever_. He can’t even be one hundred percent sure Seungcheol’s doing it on purpose.

Seungcheol lays out flat on the bed, spreading his thighs open so Jihoon can rest between them. Jihoon begins by licking long, slow stripes up Seungcheol’s cock, teasing the slit, peppering kisses at the creases of his thighs until Seungcheol is spreading himself, offering himself up, hands hooked behind his knees.

Jihoon’s hands move to the backs of his thighs, gently urging one of Seungcheol’s legs over his hip, pressing behind his balls with one finger, slickened. Seungcheol moans when it penetrates him, his body contracting heatedly around it. Jihoon can hardly imagine doing the same with his entire hand.

“Have you ever tried it before?” he murmurs, working that finger in fully.

“No.” Seungcheol blushes, the hand he’s bracing himself on clawing into the blankets. “Not really.”

Jihoon grins. “When?” he prompts with a twist of fingers.

Seungcheol arches into the touch, “After one of our private session,” he blurts out all at once.

“Which one?” Jihoon asks, pressing another finger in alongside the fist.

“When you turned me down, then changed you mind and took your friend’s place instead. After I was—” His words dissolve and he writhes down on Jihoon’s fingers, two deep now, arching until the wet length of Jihoon’s cock rubs against his stomach.

“Go on.” Jihoon prompts as Seungcheol gnaws on his lip.

“I was so turned on for the rest of the night. Had to leave the club early. I wanted to fuck myself with my toy, the big one, but I got so worked up and then just ended up fingering myself thinking of you instead.” Seungcheol says, voice sounding like a broken version of itself, flawed, cracked all the way through. “I nearly did it then, but I couldn’t—not with the angle. So, I just made myself come with my toy and went to sleep.”

“So,” Jihoon muses, “I got you so worked up from sucking on your nipples, you passed out naked and fucked open and aching for me, with a sex toy under your pillow.” He pulls his hand back, feels Seungcheol clench and try to draw him in again. “How interesting.”

“Not under the pillow,” corrects Seungcheol, muffled because he’s got a hand thrown over his head. “I kept it in me all night.”

Jihoon’s hand tightens on his thigh and he feels his heart kick into a faster beat. Seungcheol must have caught his little inhalation, because he lifts his arm away from his face to peer at him curiously.

“It was all your fault by the way,” Seungcheol continues. “I never let clients touch me like that, but you were…” He trails off to moan again. “Really fucking hot. I’m not  _completely_  objectifying you, I just--”

“Hey,” Jihoon interjects, a little dazed, “objectify away.”

Seungcheol graces him with another of those disconcertingly angelic smiles. “I’m gonna turn over now,” he says brightly. “And you’re making me feel really good right now, so please don’t stop.” He says and turns straight away, sinking onto his hands and knees in the sheets.

God, he's  _perfect_. All curves of muscle and smooth skin. Jihoon's free hand slides up his back. He's warm and solid and perfectly still. Waiting. Like he wants it, like he's prepared for it.

He’s silent as Jihoon works three fingers into him from behind, slick and slow, then a fourth.

Seungcheol’s taken two thick lengths at once, is more than capable of taking his fist, but Jihoon is on edge, waiting, and when Seungcheol  _does_  finally utter a tiny whimper it’s enough to make him jump.

“Cheollie, what’s wrong?”

“You’re never this quiet.” Seungcheol murmurs.

Jihoon huffs a quiet laugh. “Sorry, I’m just focusing. This—requires a lot of focus.”

Seungcheol smiles over his shoulder, trying to reassure him. “Give me your other hand.”

He does, and Seungcheol grips it fiercely, threading their fingers together.

“Please talk to me.” He whispers.

Jihoon grins, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re gorgeous like this, always so gorgeous. Make me want to do so many awful things to you.” he breathes, and his voice is roughened and half-stifled when he feels Seungcheol’s slick his mouth along the back of his hand, wetness and warmth and the sharpness of teeth.

“Like what?” Seungcheol pants breathlessly.

Jihoon drops his voice to a lower register, husks his fantasies into Seungcheol’s skin. “I’d tie you up Cheollie. Strap you down to the bed. Take my time with you, stuff you nice and full with your toys and my dick. I’d put a cock ring on you—I’d make it last a long time, till you were begging me to finish, but then I’d stop and fuck you just like this. You’d be so sore—aching to come. But I’d leave you tied up—with a toy inside you. Let you wait.” Jihoon murmurs. He crooks his fingers, just barely, inside Seungcheol and soothes a kiss against his back when it makes him shiver.

“And then?” Seungcheol gasps, straining to look over his shoulder, eyes darkened.

Jihoon realises with a punch to the gut how much Seungcheol is getting off on his words. Almost as much as any sensation Jihoon can give him.

“I’d collar you.” Jihoon purrs. “Spank you a little. Play with your nipples—cause I know how sensitive they are—you could come from that alone, couldn’t you? Just me playing with them till they hurt. Then I’d open you up again. And if you’re a good boy—I’d let you come, any way you wanted, as many times as you could.” Jihoon finishes, half-heartedly biting the pillowy flesh of Seungcheol’s ass cheek.

“Oh shit— _Jihoon_. Fuck—yes. I want that.” Seungcheol sobs haltingly, his voice tearing at the seams when Jihoon’s fingers nudge against his prostrate.

Jihoon wants to do all those things to him and more.

More than anything, Jihoon wishes there was a mirror in front of them so he could see Seungcheol’s face properly. He settles the next best thing and leans over him, grips his chin, and takes his mouth for as long as he possibly can, tasting every part of it until Seungcheol is panting and the awkwardness of the position causes them to break away from each other.

“Next time,” Jihoon says, with certainty, and lets him go.

He catches his breath, pressing his thumb to Seungcheol’s hole, not entering yet.

Seungcheol twists around again, stretching like he’s trying to  _see_ Jihoon’s fingers slipping into him like this. “Is that—it is, isn’t it? Jihoon,” and God, no one’s ever said his name the way Seungcheol does when he’s like this, “please, do it.”

“I’m not stopping,” Jihoon promises, and Seungcheol’s head lags forward, nape bared. He uses his other hand to thumb Seungcheol open wider still, then flicks the very tip of his tongue to the rim of his hole. “You ready for more?” He does it again, breathing out warmly against him; Seungcheol squirms, whines. “Want my whole fist inside you?”

Seungcheol whimpers. “Do it, just… _please_. Like this, fuck,  _yes_.”

Jihoon loves him like this, so beautiful in his impatience. Like this. On his knees, on his hands, shuddering, swearing, so wet, and Jihoon fucking him open with four fingers until he’s sobbing and demanding more  _again_ , bucking his hips back wantonly.

“Maybe you’ve had enough. Maybe I should stop now and fuck you with one of your toys instead.” Jihoon teases.

Seungcheol shakes and swears and the words pour out of him. “No…not enough, you …want you fuckplease, Jihoon, I want it—fist me.”

Jihoon reaches for the lube again, empties the bottle. All over his hand and dripping between his fingers and onto the sheets and Seungcheol’s thighs: a mess, but a necessary one. Taking no chances. “Okay Cheollie—need you to relax for me baby.”

And then he’s pushing his thumb in and Seungcheol is trembling, ass still shoved into the air and head still hidden in the pillow, but he’s moaning long and shaky and Jihoon’s hand slips in and in and  _deep_  until Seungcheol’s keening as the wide ridge of Jihoon’s knuckles disappear inside him.

Jihoon pushes in, all the way in, feels the pressure, the long slow breath Seungcheol looses when he sinks into him. His own catches in his throat and stays there. Watching Seungcheol stretch around his hand in a way he can feel with sharp and unrestrained arousal.

And he’s done it. All of it, his entire fist in Seungcheol’s hole.

“Oh—fuck.” Jihoon groans.

Synapses are firing like flashbulbs all over Jihoon’s brain and he doesn’t trust himself to breathe, let alone  _speak_  even though he needs to, and Seungcheol is breathing so hard, back shaking like he’s struggling not to move.

Seungcheol whines after a few minutes, rocking his hips up. “Oh fuck Jihoonie—I feel so full. Move please.”

Jihoon pushes his hand slowly deeper, watching and feeling Seungcheol clamp around his fist. Seungcheol’s strong, Jihoon knows this very well, but everything about his body seems as fragile as the moment they’re both tangled in. “I…God…the way you feel right now, Cheollie I can’t…you have no idea how hot this is.” he breathes.

“Yess—ahh,” Seungcheol pants, moving his hips in time with Jihoon’s fist, “Just-- just keep doing that, please.”

Jihoon pulls out a little, only to sink even further inside. He wants to say so many things, like how much he adores the way Seungcheol spreads right open for it, trying his best to take Jihoon in even though he’s so unbelievably tight it  _has_  to hurt, more than a little. Jihoon wants to say that he would do anything, anything at all, for it to  _not_.

Seungcheol is twisting around, trying to see. His voice is strained, raspy. “Jihoon, talk to me.”

And Jihoon can’t, can only hold him and kiss him and touch him like he’s made of gold.

Even if he could talk, he doesn’t know what could truly do this justice…and Jihoon is…it’s too much and he can’t. He just can’t.

“ _Can’t_.” Head bowed, forehead damp and warm against Seungcheol’s shoulder, fist moving in small pushing movements in and out, his other hand wrapped around his cock and tugging it quickly.

He’s vaguely aware that Seungcheol’s telling him it’s okay, everything feels amazing, which is insane since Jihoon should probably be the one telling  _him_  these things.

And it _is_ amazing, it’s fucking  _surreal_ , that he can take Jihoon into him like this and Jihoon can only pet him and kiss his back and hope that every last unspoken word sinks into Seungcheol’s skin and  _stays_.

When Jihoon comes, spattering his own hand and the back of Seungcheol’s trembling thighs, it seems to happen out of nowhere. He thinks he says something, babbling out strings of idiocy too far gone to realize it, but Seungcheol is letting out something that’s almost an actual  _sob_. _“Ahh—Jihoonie.”_

It nearly gives Jihoon a heart attack when, in front of him, under him, around him, Seungcheol’s body spasms as if he’s in pain.

The awe in his voice indicates otherwise. “ _Fuck_ , Jihoon, did you just—?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon pants. Reaching, feeling under him to touch his tight-clenched stomach and the wetness of his cock— _fuck_ , he’s still hard, even now. He could come again. He can feel it.

Seungcheol groans and spreads his legs wider, fucking himself down on Jihoon’s hand.

“Fuck me—fuck me _please.”_ he whines, and Jihoon can’t get enough of him like this, shuddering with pleasure and too far off the ground to hold back.

Seungcheol tries to look over his shoulder again, but Jihoon presses into him ever so slightly and Seungcheol’s head falls forward like he simply doesn’t have the strength left in him anymore.

“Please—fuck me. I love your hands, you have no fucking _idea._ Fist _me—harder._ Please—fist me hard.”

And even then, the words keep coming and Jihoon is still there, still drinking in every last one as he work his hand in deeper.

“ _Yeah_. Do that again, _Ahhhnnn—more._ I can take it. Ahh, _ahhnn,_ I’m so close Jihoonie.”

Jihoon groans alongside him.

Being trusted, this much, is such a heady thing. This is what goes through his mind when Seungcheol’s hand closes over his own and squeezes, tight and merciless.

Jihoon works his hand in and out steadily, then pulls out till his knuckles are spreading Seungcheol wide and _twists_ his wrist. Seungcheol arches immediately, making a long noise in his throat.

Jihoon sinks his fist back inside his clenching heat and Seungcheol comes without a sound, without a single touch to his leaking cock, little quivers running through his body.

After the last pulse of come spills into the sheets below, Seungcheol finally groans, groans like Jihoon's broken him.

Jihoon stills his hand, watches Seungcheol’s back muscles tighten and then tremble. He can feel the delicious way he's shivering, tremors that slide through him, weak, little twitches of over-sensitivity around the fist still buried inside him.

That was so fucking hot. So insanely hot. That Seungcheol even _let_ him do this—it leaves Jihoon warm and dizzy.

The broken little groan Seungcheol gives when Jihoon pulls free of him, however, is heart-breaking, even though he moves as gently as he can.

Seungcheol groans out something defeated, then slumps face down into the pillow, his eyes closed and hands limp on the bedclothes.

Jihoon drops kisses to the small of his back, the curve of his ass, quietly expounding upon how lovely and impressive Seungcheol had been.

* * *

 

“How was work?” Seungcheol says, stroking Jihoon’s loose hair back from his face with a fond little smile.

Seungcheol’s body radiates heat like a furnace after sex, Jihoon loves draping himself all over it, pillowing his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder as they come down from their high.

“Bearable—until you sent me that picture and made it extremely _unbearable_.”

Seungcheol’s laugh rumbles in his chest. Jihoon can feel the vibrations of it under his ears. “I guess I’ll stop sending pictures.”

Jihoon lifts his head to level him a serious look. “Don’t you dare. I need those pictures—they’re motivating.” He grins and drops his head to Seungcheol's shoulder.

Seungcheol huffs a laugh, his breath warm against Jihoon's neck. 

“I actually got some good news.” Jihoon speaks up again after a pleasant moment of silence.

Seungcheol continues to pet his hair absently.  “Yeah?”

“The senior partner in my firm is resigning in a few months and—they want me to apply for the position.” Jihoon says around a jaw cracking yawn. “They pretty much said it was a done deal.”

Seungcheol tenses underneath him. “Senior partner? Holy shit, that’s huge!”

Jihoon grunts agreement.

“Why are you not more excited about this? Senior partner at your age Jihoon—that’s _impressive_. Most corporate lawyers never see that opportunity even with 40 years’ experience behind them. You should be so proud!”

Jihoon hums noncommittally and rises to lean on his elbows, pinning Seungcheol with his eyes as well as his weight. “I _am_ pleased. But I’m even more pleased by how much you seem to know about corporate law all of a sudden.”

Seungcheol gets a bit flustered from there, face scrunching and tensing with such delectable coyness that Jihoon can’t help but feel a little bad for him. “Uh—I may have done some reading.”  He mumbles.

 _Of course, he did_ —Jihoon feels a surge of affection.

“Oh yeah? What kind of reading?” Jihoon presses merrily.

“Just—about lawyers and—corporate law and stuff.” Seungcheol says after a moment’s hesitation. He dips his lashes, averting Jihoon’s gaze with genuine reserve, not the false coyness it would look like on most people.

Jihoon cups his chin, turns his head back. “Why?”

Seungcheol’s face scrunches further. “Cause I didn’t want to sound stupid when you talked about your job with me. I feel like—I say stupid things around you.” He says with a frown which may be just the slightest bit petulant.

Jihoon feels a visceral tug somewhere around his heart. He reaches up to peck Seungcheol’s brow tenderly. “That’s absolute bullshit Cheollie. That’s not something you should ever have to worry about.”

Seungcheol blushes and gives him a sweet little dimpling smile that Jihoon feels all the way down to his toes.

“We—we should celebrate.” Seungcheol announces cheerfully.

Jihoon huffs laughter. “I haven’t been promoted yet. I may not get it. The interview panel might hate me.”

There is the faintest sigh against the back of his neck. “Don’t be silly Jihoon. You’ll get it, cause you’re awesome.”

Jihoon smiles, feeling a flush on his skin. He doesn’t suppose he could chalk that up entirely to the sex they’d just finished having. “Alright—if you want to celebrate prematurely, I’d love to take you away somewhere. I have so much holiday accrued I need to take, so we can go abroad somewhere. Some place _warm_.”

Seungcheol looks at him as if he's suddenly developed brain-damage “I meant celebrate as in dinner—or we could try the collar thing you mentioned in your poem. I—” He pauses, looking stricken all of a sudden. “I can’t afford to go abroad.”

“Nonsense, I’ll take care of that.” Jihoon bats his hand dismissively. “I need to see you on a beach, or lounging by a pool. I could rub lotion on you while you drink cocktails with those tiny umbrellas in them. Maybe I’ll drop ice cream on you and have to lick it off cause conveniently we’ll run out of napkins.”

Seungcheol’s mouth shifts slightly under the suggestion, not quite a smile, something more confused, “Are you serious?”

“Of course.” Jihoon scoffs. He knows there are some things that you have to catch while they're still a bright, reckless idea. You have to put them in motion before you have a chance to overthink.

The tension in Seungcheol’s arms belies the lightness of his voice. “Yanno, I got a bunch of those tiny umbrellas in the club. I can just wear speedos _here_ and we can hang out in the bathtub. You don’t have to take-“

Jihoon inhales, sharply and pins Seungcheol’s hands to the bed. It's easy, it's far too easy. Seungcheol goes under without a flicker of protest, eyes shiny and liquid. And then Jihoon’s breathing him in from far too close, watching his face.

“I’m taking you to some beach. You’re going to wear practically nothing while sipping cocktails with tiny umbrellas and I’m going to rub lotion on you. That’s final.”

He tips Seungcheol’s chin and dares him to comment, dares him to treat the last statement as anything other than the brutal fucking honesty it is.

Seungcheol looks away, that beautiful conflicted expression is all over his face, but there's a flush of red making its way up his throat. He looks _anxious_ , and it occurs to Jihoon that he might be pushing the personal boundary here a little bit. Even more than he usually does.

He’s about to open his mouth, about to apologise for pushing Seungcheol into anything, when Seungcheol speaks first.

“When do you want to go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Sorry this took so long to update. No excuse, just doing other things for a while :D  
> 2) I can finally tick fisting off my list. I can't remember who suggested it....but thank you.  
> 3) Any other kink suggestions, let me know!  
> 4) Seriously...that could be Cheol's butt. (If he hadn't lost so much weight) Also...his latest Selca, what the fuck is he trying to do? Kill us all? Jesus.  
> 5) Hope you enjoyed reading! Feedback always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) You should watch this video of Seungcheol is you have any doubt that he is a stripper.  
> [Cheol strip](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/840126147643944960?s=09)  
> 2) He has the body for it.  
> 3) Feedback always appreciated.


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